A Blockhead Just Like You
by Madam Mimm
Summary: Sam's down on his luck. His brother 'Holy Sword' Winchester gets him a job... Cage Wrestling. Sam needs someone to train him up. Gabriel needs a reason not to give up. Sam/Gabe, probably some Dean/Cas later. Violence, angst, testosterone.
1. Chapter 1

Sam sat in the straight-backed chair, staring at the white wall in front of him. It was a fairly boring thing to look at, but his other choices were a plain white wall to his left, a plain white wall to his right, or a half-dead yucca at the end of the corridor.

He so did not want to be here.

In the next room, behind the frosted glass door, he could hear Dean trying to argue his case. He was twenty five, and he had his big brother trying to dig him out of his messes.

"Look, he knows the rules, he knows the game, he's an athlete…"

"Good for him." Came the second voice, the voice of the man they had come here to see. Sam looked up at the name, printed black on the door. Gabriel Garrison, showbiz agent. Shame they weren't there to talk about showbiz.

"Bobby thinks he can fight."

"Then Bobby can train him! I'm done, Dean, I'm not having anything to do with it."

"Oh come on! Didn't you say you'd come back if you found the next champ? I'm offering him on a silver plate…"

Ew, Dean. Sam felt even more uncomfortable now, trying very hard to think of an angle where he wasn't being sold by his brother. Because that's exactly what was happening, really. Sam got kicked out of college with no money and no funds. He couldn't find a job, so he was living on Dean's couch and trying desperately to get by. In this situation, it's probably normal for the elder brother to offer the younger one a job where they worked, and probably normal to have to sit still and listen to the elder brother argue for it.

Not so much when your brother's "job" is fighting in an illegal underground wrestling ring. Even less when he's trying to talk a trainer out of retirement because no one else wanted to risk taking on a down and out law student.

"No way! I'm done. I've got a life, and I'm doing both myself and your brother a favour by not signing him on."

"But he wants to fight. You haven't even seen him yet!"

"Get out of my office. Go, and never darken my towels again."

Sam stood, hearing Dean shout about how weird the guy was. Words like 'freak' would probably mean their meeting was coming to a close. He sighed heavily as Dean flung open the door.

"Fine. If you won't take him, at least come out here and say it to his face.

Dean stormed out of the office, shooting Sam a quick wink as he stepped back. Sam felt so very, very unclean.

"Fine, it means that much to…" Gabriel trailed off as he stepped out of his office and laid eyes on Sam. Or, rather, laid eyes on Sam's collar-bone, which was about head-level with him. "Wow."

"He's tall." Dean said, ever the master of casual redundancy. "Six and a half foot high, three across... he's made for wrestling."

Sam glared at Dean, wondering exactly how long he'd have to spend in the shower before he didn't feel dirty.

"Yeah… if we put him on diet and regime… no! No." Gabriel seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone. He glared at Sam. "Look, kiddo, I'm sure you're a swell guy, but I am not doing that job any more. I could get arrested for even having this conversation with you. I'm not going back in."

"Please." Sam said, figuring he may as well try.

"Oh, and it speaks." Gabriel responded, looking very much like he regretted ever opening his office door. "The whole package."

"I need the money. Really bad. Just… let me show you what I can do."

Gabriel hesitated. And, as Dean had often told Sam, in the world of wrestling, hesitation is what you do before you get your ass handed to you.

That was how they ended up, seven hours later, in the old garage warehouse at the back of Bobby's salvage yard. That was where Dean trained every day, and now Sam was about to do something he hadn't done since he was seventeen.

He was about to try and kick Dean "The Holy Sword" Winchester's ass. Dean was already stripped down to his "costume"; a worn pair of jeans and what were essentially black, high-topped slippers. He wasn't wearing his Mexican wrestler mask, thank god, because Sam felt stupid enough as it was. Bobby stood at the side of the ring, scowling at them both.

"I've got other things I could be doing."

"Yeah, well, don't bitch at us, Bobby. We're both here."

Sam pulled off his shirt and stood in his tracksuit pants, very aware of how untrained he was. Dean grinned at him.

"Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

"Ok, I'm here." Gabriel entered without anyone having heard him approach, and strolled up to the ring like he belonged. Which, Sam supposed, he did. Bobby rolled his eyes.

"You never could be on time."

"Sue me. You wouldn't be the first. Alright, kids, let's get this show on the road."

Sam nodded, edging away from the cage. Oh, did he not mention it was cage wrestling? Yeah, it was illegal cage wrestling. When the fuck did his life get like this?

Contemplation wasn't really a luxury Sam could be afforded, though, as Dean ploughed into his side. Being smaller than Sam (but then, who wasn't), but still strong, Dean could easily duck under his brother's arms and go straight for the stomach. The thick metal bit disapprovingly into Sam's back as he was driven against it like a cow on a level crossing.

Sam was only beaten for a moment, mustering up the strength to push back into the centre. He reached over Dean's back and grabbed his legs, pulling them out so they both collapsed onto the canvas, Dean struggling to move Sam's weight off him.

That was the problem with illegal wrestling matches. Or, one of them. They weren't fixed like the pro matches, or written as part of some grand story arc to make it more entertaining. It was all about who could pound who into the ground, and still stand up unaided. Dean kicked Sam off him and gained some distance.

While Sam was still struggling to his feet, his brother landed full force on his back. Dean was smaller, quicker and better trained, but Sam had brute force on his side and, pulling himself up by Dean's shoulders, he managed to arm-lock him, trip him, and put him to the canvas. That was when, if they were in a match, he would be expected to kick him until he submitted.

"I'm out." Dean yelled, grinning inexplicably as Sam let him up. His brother was clearly a glutton for punishment. "Good job; nice to know you haven't lost your touch."

"Yeah, great." Sam muttered, turning to Gabriel. "So?"

"The kid's good." Bobby said, swinging open the cage door so he could throw Dean his shirt. In a real mach, that door would be locked shut. "I'd train him myself, if I didn't have my hands full being PA to this diva."

"Screw you, old man." Dean advised, and received half his water bottle to his face for his troubles.

Gabriel looked Sam over, eyes narrowed as he sunk deep into thought.

"You did always say you wanted to train a champ." Bobby leant against the side of the ring, raising an eyebrow at the ex-trainer. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad you found your way out of this, but if you've got a chance to do it…"

"Come on, Gabriel." Dean grinned, ducking through the door to the cage. "How cool would he be once he'd been trained up and kitted out?"

"It ain't easy." He said, staring up at Sam. "You get that, right? It's going to be hard work. If you want to come out of there each night with that pretty face of yours intact, you've got to have one hundred percent precision. Near enough isn't good enough."

"I know." Sam nodded.

"You can kiss your social life good bye. I mean, I don't know how Bobby's got Dean training, but I run a tight program. I'll be monitoring your alcohol intake, your calories, your daily activities… You won't see your girlfriend for the next three months, at least."

"I don't have one." Sam shrugged, truthfully.

"You really want to do this? Really? Because, once you do, there's a good chance you'll be stuck with it for life."

"I need a job. Nowhere will hire me. Please."

"Alright. I can't believe I'm saying this but… You might be it. My one last shot at the big title." Gabriel pushed away from the bars, looking like he'd just had the job of telling Sam his dog had died, rather than him getting a job.

Gabriel was already half way to the doors out of the barn, the orange light from outside silhouetting him.

"Thanks." Sam called, feeling oddly lost and awkward now that he'd attained this new position. He didn't know what he was expecting, but a 'congratulations, you passed' wouldn't go amiss.

"Don't thank me yet. Be at the gym on twenty third and main, tomorrow morning. Like, seven a.m. We're going to start seeing what you can do. And wear some better work-out gear; much as I enjoyed seeing your ass, the punters aren't so open-minded."

And he left.

Sam felt oddly ashamed, and it was only in part due to his baggy sweatpants.

(-*-)

The next morning, Sam was off of Dean's death-trap of a hand-me-down pull-out couch bright and early. His muscles screamed in pain, and they were right to do so. He was too long for the pull out couch, he was too wide for the pull-out couch (especially since he had a habit of sprawling when he slept) and, of course, he was made of human flesh, not fucking Kevlar.

Wasn't like he was going to complain or anything, though. If he didn't want to be sleeping on Dean's couch, he shouldn't have gotten kicked out of college and dumped at the same time.

That was four months ago, though, and four months of sleeping on the Couch of Doom And Improper Lumbar Support would be enough to externalise anyone's internal pain. Grabbing himself a breakfast burrito and a bottle of water out of the fridge, Sam put his newer, stronger-waistband pair of sweat-pants and an old t-shirt before storming down to the gym. He wanted to hit things, today.

When he got to the gym, Gabriel was already there, leaning up against the doors.

"Hey, Sammy. Let's move." So saying, he strolled masterfully away from the gym.

"Wha… aren't we going in?"

"You think I'm going to waste my money on that sink-hole? No way, kid. Follow." So saying, he led the way to an expansive park. Already feeling wrong-footed, Sam followed.

"Did you know…" Gabriel said as they reached the top of the hill, "that from where we're standing to that tree down there is exactly a tenth of a mile."

"Really?" Sam said, wondering why Gabriel was telling him this.

"Yup." Gabriel threw himself down on a nearby bench. "Get running."

"What?"

"Get running. If you run to that tree and back five times, you'll have run a mile. I'm timing you, by the way."

"And what are you going to be doing?"

"Timing you." Gabriel repeated, shooting a glare at Sam. "None too sharp, there, Sammy. Besides, I also have the important task of coming up with your persona."

"My persona." Sam nodded, realising with horror that he was starting to miss the Couch of Doom.

"You know. Your name, your costume, your gimmick." Gabriel reclined on the bench, grinning up at Sam. "We may not be like the pros in terms of pulling power, or payroll… or union perks… insurance or anything else, but every wrestler has to have a gimmick."

Sam stared at him for a moment, wondering if it was too late to back out.

"Well? Get running." Gabriel started a stop watch, and Sam obediently, if reluctantly, did so.

Sam wasn't unhealthy. Yes, he was suffering from four months on the Couch of Doom, and yes, this morning he'd been an utter idiot and gone for a breakfast burrito of all things, but on the whole he was in fairly good shape. He made the first run in three minutes, and when he made it back to the bench, Gabriel looked at him.

"How about 'Gigantor'?"

"No."  
>"Keep running."<p>

He made the second run in two and a half minutes.

"Samsquatch?"

"No."

"Keep going."

The third run took two minutes.

"Bigfoot?"

"I'm not liking this line of thought."

"Shut up and run."

The fourth run took two minutes.

"Mighty Moose, destroyer of worlds?"

"Hell no."

"Picky, picky, picky."

The fifth run took a minute and forty seven seconds.

"Look at that, you're getting faster."

"Yeah." Sam gasped, swigging from his water bottle before stretching his tired legs. "It's been a while since I've really done much exercise; I guess I'm getting back into it."

"Well, you total a time of eleven minutes, seventeen seconds. That's a little slower than average, although the hill does add to your time… If we can get this down to ten, you'll be in shape." Gabriel stood, hands in his pockets, and wandered off. "Come on, kid."

"Where are we going now?"

"Working on your upper body strength. Kiddo, if this relationship is going to work, you'll have to stop asking so many questions."

Sam took another gulp of water, and quickly caught up with Gabriel's shorter strides.

"If this relationship is going to work, you'll have to stop calling me 'kiddo'."

"Kid?"

"That too."

"Junior?"

"Yeah."

"Dammit, why'd I have to get the boring Winchester?" Gabriel smirked at him, and Sam really wondered what he'd let himself in for.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam followed half-heartedly as Gabriel marched back into town. Gabriel seemed far too chatty for such an ungodly hour of the morning.

"So you don't want your gimmick to be about your height."

"No."

"Or your hair?"

"No."

"Dammit, I'm going to have to think about this..."

They approached a large, warehouse-like building that had probably once been a garage or truck depot. Sam happened to know that it had been renovated ten years ago to serve as a theatre-slash-music arena, and the truck parked up outside implied that someone was holding a gig there that evening.

"Hey?" Gabriel called, knocking on the side of the truck. A guy with a sleeveless hoodie and a mullet jumped out of it.

"Yo. What's up?" He stopped, stared at Gabriel, and then started laughing, embracing him in a manner reserved for fellow roadies. "Gabriel! Long time no see, man. It's been, like, what, five years?"

"Six. You got any work for the Goliath here?"

Gabriel jerked his thumb towards Sam, and Ash looked up at him, still beaming.

"Old speakers in the back, just like always. Here, I'll walk you through."

Ash led the way, and Sam was left with nothing to do but follow Gabriel, perplexed.

"I thought we were going to work on my strength?"

"What did I say about asking questions, kiddo?" Gabriel responded, as Ash led them around to the backstage part of the old warehouse, where piles of broken speaker stacks stood like dead trees; solid, lifeless and immovable.

"Get moving." Gabriel nodded, sitting down on one of two deck-chairs that sat in the corner by the door. "Those speakers outside, then brought back in and stacked in height order."

Sam balked.

"We can't just go to the gym?"

"Was that a question?"

"Don't bother, man." Ash chuckled, throwing himself down in the seat next to Gabriel. "I've known this guy for close to ten years, ever since this place became a venue. He brings all his hopefuls here. He make you run to the tree yet?"

"Yeah." Sam sighed, and started lifting the old speakers. There must have been about fifty in there, and if he didn't regret signing up for illegal cage wrestling before, he was starting to now.

(-*-)

It took Sam thee better part of two hours to shift all the speakers around, at which point Gabriel let him sit down and drink some water. Gabriel had been scribbling something out on a yellow legal pad.

"Ok. I've drafted out a diet plan for you; about 3500 calories a day with half hour weightlifting a day."

"Really?"

"We can adjust once we see what happens, but this should bulk you up a little more. You're already in pretty fine shape, so it won't be much work."

Sam supposed that was something.

Gabriel stood, stretching his arms like he'd done anything at all that morning.

"And then I came up with some ideas for personas."

Sam looked over the bit of paper. Most of it was covered in crudely drawn stick figures.

"David The Goliath?" Sam glared at his trainer. Gabriel shrugged.

"Well then, you think of something better. Go home, we're done for today."

"Really? That's it?"

"I have other people who need my expert advice." Gabriel sniffed, before fist-bumping with Ash and walking out the door. As he went, he whistled a jaunty tune that registered dimly as something Sam should recognise, but he didn't.

"Say hi to Kali for me." Ash yelled after Gabriel, grinning as the other man gave him the middle finger without changing his pace. Ash turned his grin on Sam. "You got a good trainer. He'll do right by you if you do right by him, you know?"

Sam honestly didn't.

He dragged his feet back to Dean's place, collapsed on the couch of doom and decided not to move for a few hours.

He'd decided that, but then when did he ever get to do what he wanted.

"Sammy? That you?" Dean yelled form his bedroom. Sam sighed, and managed to grunt some sort of acknowledgement.

"Awesome. Get your coat, You're coming down to the bar with me."

"It's… it's like midday, Dean."

"Yeah." Dean wandered through to the living room, brow furrowed. "And..?"

"I'm not going drinking with you at ten past twelve."

"I'm not going drinking. I need to introduce you to Zach if you're going to end up actually fighting anyone."

"Well, I might not, after all." Sam sighed, trying to will the couch into a greater state of comfort. "Gabriel's training is weird, and gruelling, and… I don't think he likes me."

"So?" Dean stared at him, slapped his feet off of the table and smirked at him. "Quit being such a massive girl, wrestling isn't about 'liking'."

"Yeah, I know, but… forget it. Whatever. I just don't think he's going to say I can fight any time soon."

"Really?" Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed a pair of socks and started pulling them on.

"He can't even come up with a gimmick for me."

"You mean your handle?" Dean paused, mid-sock. He looked thoughtful for a moment, before resuming his activity.

"That wasn't an invitation to help."

"The Mighty Giant?"

"That sucks."

"Ginormica?"

"That's a girl's name."

"Bitch-Face McGee, destroyer of…"

"Screw you."

"Come to the bar with me, meet Zach, and watch how the circuit works form the other side. And you can be in my corner at the match tonight."

"I can't." Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. "I have a paper due Monday…"

"No you don't." Dean corrected, shooting a worried look at his brother. "You're not in college any more, Sam."

Sam blinked, the words falling into his mind with a dull thud. He'd honestly forgotten.

"Right. Yeah."

"You ok?"

"Yeah. Let's go to the bar."

"Are you sure? I mean…"

"Yeah. Let's go."

Dean didn't question it, but he did shoot his brother a few concerned looks. And really, since Sam had left for college, that was all he'd been able to do.

(-*-)

The Bar was, as the name implied, an uppity bar for yuppies and corporate douchebags who wanted somewhere to have less than legal fun after work. It was run by one Zachariah Hollman, a shrewd, conniving man who, when not turning a blind eye to drug deals, prostitution and assault, organised, funded and promoted the Fight Night. Good to know he was consistently corrupt, Sam supposed, as he and Dean wandered around to the back door. Zachariah was already stood outside, grey coat over his grey hair and greying skin, smiling at Dean in such a way that he looked like a shark that had learned to walk on land.

"Dean. What a pleasant surprise. Just giving myself a smoke break… damn city ordinances, can you believe I can't smoke in my own building?"

"Really? This is the ordinance you listen to?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him, earning himself a smirk.

"Call it a marketing strategy. What can I help you with?"

The sky had become overcast in the hour since Sam had stopped training, and the dark sky was doing nothing to counteract his exhaustion. He stood back, leaning against the dry brick and trying not to stand in any suspicious puddles. He let Dean talk.

"Just checking up on what's happening this evening."

"Same as ever." Zachariah quirked an eyebrow at Sam. Dean shook his head.

"He's cool. Might be fighting himself, one day."

"Ah. Welcome to the game, kid." Zachariah looked him up and down. "Hope you aren't too attached to that pretty face of yours… There's a ten minute or best of five with Baron Samedi, then you're open to all challengers. If they win, they get three thousand. Guess what?"

"Don't let them win?"

"Don't let them win." Zachariah glared pointedly at Dean. "And then it's Meg versus Madison in the girl on girl match." He shrugged. "The usual. But after the last time you beat Samedi to a pulp, I have a feeling this'll be no holds barred."

"I can take him." Dean shrugged, cheeky grin firmly in place. "When do you need me there?"

"Nine. Eight if you need some time to get ready."

"You know me." Dean grinned, shooting him a wink. "Got to look pretty for the punters. Who's referee?"

"Crowley." Zachariah flashed another savage smile, knowing just how much Dean hated the man. "I'm sure he'll play nice."

"Yeah, right." Dean sighed. He glanced at Sam. "Hey, when he starts out…"

"If I…"

"When." Dean stated, ignoring Sam. "How much do you reckon he'll make, per fight?"

"Depends how good he is. I'd say… five hundred, to start, and he can probably take a cut from the bookie." Zachariah took a drag on his cigarette, scrutinising Sam. Great, now he felt all dirty again. "Who's training him?"

"Gabriel."

"Garrison?" Zachariah blinked at Dean. "I thought he retired?"

"He reckons Sam's got potential."

"Is that right?" Zachariah took another drag, before flashing another grin. "He'll be worth seven fifty in no time, if that's true. He got a handle yet?"

"Not yet."

"Should get on it. Otherwise you end up like your friend here, on the mercy of the announcer to come up with something cool."

"Ok, one, he's not my friend, he's my brother. And what's wrong with my name?" Dean blinked.

"Dean 'Holy Sword' Winchester… sounds like an actor in religious fetishist porn." Zachariah advised, throwing his cigarette to the ground. "One with a tendency to over compensate… wait, you two are brothers?"

"Yeah."

"Great. We can get you on the tag team matches." Zachariah turned and kicked open the back door. "Now there's a gimmick to work on."

And with that, their boss left.

"It's an idea." Dean shrugged. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch."

(-*-)

The old battery factory, in the middle of town, was lit from the inside by strings upon strings of artificial lights. The street light didn't stand a chance to cut through the darkness and the boarded windows. The whole building smelled of cheap paint and disinfectant. What had once been the factory floor was now occupied by cheap bleachers surrounding the fifteen foot cubed cage. The canvas was dusty, grimy, and all in all, one of the most foreboding things Sam had ever seen. The locker rooms, as they were, were grubby tile and old high school lockers, complete with dented doors and sticker residue. There were some beaten up old toilet cubicles, and a bench.

"Sparse" was the watch-word for the décor, but then Sam supposed Zachariah needed to find the money for bribing the police department somewhere.

Sam sat on the bottom row of one of the empty sets of bleachers, staring around the quiet cavern. Dean had gone back to the locker rooms to get himself ready. Sam had nothing to do but wait for the crowds to arrive.

He breathed the smell that had long since worked its way into the walls, which they would probably never be able to remove. Under the disinfectant and wet paint, the smell of oil, sweat and blood. The smell Dean always had on him when he used to sneak back in when they were kids.

Dean had been doing this since he was sixteen.

Most kids got a paper round.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a pair of very blue eyes in a gaunt white face.

"You are Sam Winchester?"

"Yeah." Sam said, resisting the urge to shuffle away from the creepy newcomer.

"Good. Dean said he wished you to shadow me for the duration of this evening. He said you would learn more that way."

"Ok…" Sam tried not to stare at the ruffled-looking, black-haired man, but it wasn't easy, because he was making no such efforts not to stare at Sam. "And you are..?"

"Castiel Novak." He extended his hand, in a jerky, unsure movement that said he'd read about that kind of gesture in a book. "I'm the… medical supervisor."

Tactful way of saying he used to be a doctor, and was probably now struck off for malpractice. Sam shook his hand anyway; it wasn't like he could judge anyone for making bad decisions. Sam followed Castiel to a row of folding chairs sat beside the cage, where he had a fairly sizable first aid kit. Castiel began talking Sam through the various items and their jobs; he could do pretty much everything short of setting bones or removing an appendix, it seemed.

The crowd started to trickle in. The obvious rebels, at first, clad in leather and neon, inked and pierced, cut and coloured, the kind who want everyone to see them burning out. They were the ones who were already laughing, shouting and howling. Then there where the other types, the ones that really freaked Sam out. The quiet, hoody, jeans and balaclava, types. The ones that were here to watch another human being be thrown that much further towards death. The ones that yearned for blood.

The bleachers filled quickly, the buzz of conversation and anticipation making the atmosphere feel heavy. A man in a black suit approached the cage, stopping only momentarily by the folding chairs.

"Who's this?" He spoke to Castiel and pointed at Sam.

"New guy. Dean's brother. Sam, this is Crowley."

"He fighting?"

"No."

"Stay with him, and don't get in the way." The man barked at Sam, before pulling himself up through the open cage door. He pulled a microphone out of his suit jacket, glaring at the assembled crowd with the disgust he knew they wanted.

"Well well." His voice boomed from speakers around the building, instantly whipping the audience into an even more heightened sense of fervour. "I would begin with 'ladies and gentlemen', if I thought any of you disgusting examples of humanity deserved those titles."

The crowd howled. Crowley was toying with them. He had the power to start the match, and he had the power to keep them waiting.

"I suppose you came here tonight to see carnage?"

The crowd roared an affirmative. Crowley smirked. Sam almost felt drunk, just by the sheer weight of excited people around him. He used none of the cheesy deliveries that are usually attributed to pro wrestling announcers. His was an understated, menacingly low and dramatic tone. Somehow, it worked better.

"In that case, my friends, carnage you shall get. It's time… for Fight Night." He revelled in the audience's dependency on his words. He held up a hand to silence the baying crowds. In any place other than this, Sam would accuse Crowley of being melodramatic, but it fitted here. These people didn't just want bloodshed; they wanted someone to feed it to them, to convince them it was an excusable form of entertainment.

"Our first fight this evening is one that settles an old grudge. When they last met, there were accusations of rule breaking. Of unfair play. The only thing I saw get broken… were bones. So, tonight, for you, they are settling their grudges, once and for all. From the south comes our dancing skeleton, our deliverer of death… our very own Baron Samedi."

The man approached from the south side of the building, pushing past anyone who got in his way with a growl. His hulking form was clad only in black leather pants, his face, arms and chest painted with skeletal white bones, which helped his dark skin blend into the darkness around him. His eyes were ringed with red.

He climbed into the ring, rattling the cage and screaming at the crowd, who screamed right back at him. He prowled around the ring like a caged animal, before taking his place in the south corner.

"But who can take on this fierce Loa? Who dares to face the death-bringer himself?" Crowley smirked again, knowing the crowd were waiting on his word. "There can be no other… The Holy Sword."

Dean barrelled out from between the bleachers, cocky smile firmly in place. He wore his jeans and black slippers, his chest painted with a bizarre set of symbols Sam knew he had found in some dusty old library book, his arm graced with a tribal hand-print, and the top half of his face covered with a black mask, that had the effect of a soldier's helmet. He had been lauded by his fans as "Justice in Blue Jeans". Sam knew it was the only costume sixteen year old Dean could cobble together without raising suspicion from his parents, and had stuck with it out of nonchalance.

Dean took his place in the ring, smirking at the crowd. Samedi could yell at them, scream at them, but Dean only had to look.

Crowley gestured them both closer.

"You know the rules. I see blood; I call time for medical attention. Submission is a simple call of "I'm out". If your opponent tries to submit, you cannot stop him from doing so. Understood?"

Both men nodded. Crowley backed out of the ring, swung the door shut and padlocked it.

"Let's Fight!"

Dean and Samedi threw themselves at each other. The crowd erupted.


	3. Chapter 3

Samedi brought a new meaning to the phrase "no holds barred", and the audience loved him for it. He lunged at Dean, still screaming, and Sam was amazed Dean didn't even flinch. He was right by the ringside; he could see the fury in Samedi's eyes. Dean squared his shoulders, bending his knees and tensing as the wall of muscle slammed into him, and wasting no time in flipping Samedi onto the canvas.

"Bastard!" Samedi was roaring, as he stumbled to his feet.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean sneered, already pulling himself up the side of the cage. "Shut up and fight, asshole." He leapt from the bars, his elbows connecting with Samedi's collarbone and his weight causing the other man to collapse. The crowd were baying for blood, and Sam an uncomfortable knot twist in his stomach as he realised he was just as excited as they were.

Samedi and Dean both got to their feet, circling each other. Samedi went for the first blow, his fist connecting with Dean's jaw and making a sickening crunch. Dean staggered back a few paces, and Samedi descended on him with another blow to the head. Dean brought is arms up to shield his face, before kicking hard at Samedi's ankle. Samedi fell to the floor in front of him, and Dean kicked him in the stomach.

The crowd screeched like wild animals, some began throwing things at the cage.

Samedi rolled onto his front and started to push himself up, but Dean slammed his face into the canvas. A worrying red-brown stain sank onto the scuffed, grey floor, Samedi's nose pouring with blood as he leapt up.

"Time!" Crowley hollered, pointing to Castiel. "Attention, now."

"You might want to stop him, first." Castiel nodded back to the ring, where Samedi had somehow gotten Dean in a headlock and was ramming his face against the metal.

"Damn it, Samedi, I called time!" Crowley yelled, pulling an air-horn from his belt and using it to get the wrestlers' attentions.

No way would these guys listen to a referee's whistle.

Once Samedi had been sent to his corner, officially on time for medical attention, Castiel approached. Sam stayed outside of the ring, but followed him around to Samedi's corner.

"Get your hands off me." Samedi spat, blood painting his teeth. "I'm fine."

"It's my job to make sure, in the event of a bleeding wound…"

"Yeah?" Samedi growled at Castiel, both of them knowing the wrestler could probably snap him like a twig, "Well I don't want your filthy, disease-ridden hands touching me."

"Samedi, your prejudice…"

"If my prejudice means I don't get your AIDS up in my blood, I think I'll live, freak."

Samedi turned his back on Castiel, taking the bottle of water that his trainer offered him through the bars. Sam, somehow going unobserved, shared a brief, reassuring smile with the medical consultant. Castiel shrugged, and pointed to Dean, who was currently sat on the floor, catching his breath.

Sam jogged over to him.

"Hey."

"Hey." Dean grinned at him, through the bars. The crowd were yelling, demanding more blood be spilled, crying for more punishment, and Sam was amazed that dean could ignore them.

"You're doing great…"

"Nah, I should have beat his face in by now… hey Cas. You still think I'm pretty?"

Castiel knelt down next to Dean, examining the rows of cuts that were slowly bleeding over Dean's face.

"Only a mild abrasion. You've probably had worse shaving. Your shoulder, on the other hand…" Castiel rested his hands on Dean's shoulder, moving his arm as if worried it might fall off. The force with which Dean had been rammed against metal bars told Sam that it could be possible.

"Not what I asked." Dean grinned, delighting in how uncomfortable he was making the medical supervisor. He turned to Sam. "I need you to make me angry."

"What?"

"I can't… I need to be pissed off at him. I'm not angry enough. Give me a reason…"

"Uh… he's a dick?" Sam tried, feeling more than a little out of his depth. "He probably tried to pay Zachariah to fix the game?"

"Sam, you suck." Dean glared at him, before spitting onto the canvas. "You're just making me angry at you."

"He wouldn't let me see him." Castiel said, apparently content that Dean's shoulder was intact. "He said he didn't want my… what were his words, Sam? My 'disease-ridden hands' on him.

"Really?" Dean stared at Castiel for a moment, his brow furrowed. Castiel shot a quick glare at the canvas.

"Something about my non-existent Aids getting near his blood."He shook his head and patted Dean on the knee, before standing and ducking out of the cage again. Sam joined Castiel at their seats.

"You think that'll get Dean angry?" Sam yelled, over the screams of the crowd as Crowley resumed the match.

"I believe your brother has been flirting with me for two years." Castiel yelled back. "At the very least, I feel Samedi's homophobia will be a point of contention."

Castiel's words were backed up by a resounding crash of metal, as Dean charged full into Samedi's stomach and sent him flying up against the bars. Now Dean had a reason to attack, he didn't hold back.

He threw Samedi down onto the canvas, kicking him in the ribs. He would back off a pace or two, giving Samedi enough time to start up onto his feet, before throwing him down and kicking him again. Sam could see his mouth moving, but he couldn't hear anything over the howls of the crowd.

Samedi managed to roll away and drag himself to his feet, but the kicking seemed to have winded him; he stumbled towards Dean and was shoved against the metal bars again, before biting the canvas.

Dean was taunting him, saying something that Sam couldn't hear over the persistent frenzy, as he knelt on Samedi's back and stretched his arm up to a dangerous angle.

"I told you to submit, you sorry sack of shit!" Dean yelled, stretching Samedi's arm back even further. Samedi struggled, writing and spitting, but Dean's knee on his neck meant he couldn't go far.

"Justice!" Chanted the supporters of the 'Holy Sword'. "Justice!"

"You're a filthy, hypocritical son of a bitch. A coward!"

Samedi started to retort, but his words turned into strangled gasps of pain as Dean stretched his arm back further.

"Submit, or I'll break it the hell off, and then how are you going to jack off to your sick pervert fantasies?"

"I'm the pervert?" Samedi laughed. Dean scowled at him.

"You're the bitch." Dean pulled his arm back further, and Samedi howled in pain, and there was a sickening crunch as Dean twisted his arm.

"Submit…" The word was sobbed, between pain and humiliation. Crowley cursed, extinguishing his cigarette on the floor.

"That was supposed to last another five minutes!" He glared at Castiel. "Who the fuck thought that arrogant shit could last ten?"

"Zachariah, most probably." Castiel said, with no hint of sarcasm. Crowley rolled his eyes, smirking at Sam's pale face.

"Get used to it, kid. No room for sympathies." And with that, Crowley pulled himself into the cage to declare the winner. The crowd were already shrieking, clamouring for more.

(-*-)

Sam felt sick. He felt actually, physically ill. He couldn't believe that Gabriel, apparently one of the most impressive trainers in the history of Fight Night, only had access to Bobby Singer's training ring.

"Come on Sam!" Dean grinned, watching from the row of folding chairs that had been set out in the barn. "Let's see those moves!"

"Ass." Sam sniped, feeling very self conscious.

"Take off your shirt!" Jo yelled from beside him. Stupid Jo, and her stupid double x chromosomes that meant Sam wasn't allowed to beat her to a pulp. He hated their cousin, sometimes.

"Ignore them." Gabriel advised, holding up his hands. Sam glared at the red targets on the pad Gabriel was wearing, and felt utterly stupid.

"I'm not doing this."

"It's just sparring, Sam, Christ. How are you going to deal in an actual match if you can't spar in front of your own family?"

"That's just it." Sam sighed, backing away. "I can't do this, ok? I can't get in that ring and have those… people… I can't put myself in the middle of that, and I won't be able to push someone near death. Dean broke some guy's arm last week, ok? I sat by and watched injury after injury… I can't do that to someone."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but that's kind of the point of the game." Gabriel smirked at him.

"I'm not doing it.

"Not this again…"

"I quit!"

"You've been saying that every day for the past week." Gabriel stared up at him, unimpressed. "Look, no one wants to get hurt out there. They all know their limits, and they'll submit before they get themselves killed…"

"But how far will I have to push them? How far am I going to get pushed? This is serious shit, and I can't…" Sam threw an angry punch at Gabriel's left hand. Gabriel stared at him.

"That's it? Come on, champ, you can do better than that. Shit, I can do better than that. You're getting yourself emotional. Calm down."

"But Dean always said…"

"Yeah, Dean's a sentimental shit who needs to know that people are bad before he can justify beating the crap out of them. But you… You're more the cold fury type, right?" Gabriel was scrutinising Sam, his eyes narrowed and a broad smile on his face, and Sam really, really wasn't comfortable with it.

"I don't know…"

"Yeah you do. Stop me if this sounds familiar; every relationship you've had ended when she dumped you. You've had a few brief, unsuccessful experiments with alternate lifestyles, but they all come down to people expecting more of you than you're willing to give. You're a loser, a nice guy, but a loser. People take advantage of you."

Yes, thought Sam, but he didn't want to let Gabriel know how right he was. He set his jaw, and tried not to react.

"You don't like your parents; you blame them for everything that's wrong in your life. You don't like your family at all, and you feel really bad about that, so much that sometimes it keeps you up at night."

Yes, thought Sam, mentally kicking himself. Think cold, he found himself chanting internally, think dead.

"But what you really hate, what really makes you angry, more than girls or school or your family… is you. The thing that makes you angriest is yourself, and the fact that you let this shit happen to you."

Sam found his breathing becoming more and more forced as he told himself not to react.

"You try to cut yourself off from people. You try to think you're dead just so you don't break down. Sound familiar."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Sam took a deep breath, and stared at Gabriel's feet. He wasn't going to let the perverse little freakshow get to him.

"I said, make me."

Sam felt the shove against his shoulder, and lashed out without even thinking about it. Gabriel was prepared, though, and the punch fell into his padded hand with such a force that his whole arm moved back.

"That's more like it!" Gabriel grinned. "That's what you need, Sam, that cold, heedless kind of fury."

Sam threw another punch, with his left arm this time. Gabriel smirked, and started circling him.

"You've got to be tough, Sam. You can't see them as people, because they're not. They're things, they're creatures, who will kill you if you give them the chance. And that's nothing new, right?"

Sam jabbed, left and right, with enough force to send Gabriel back a couple of paces.

"Sam Winchester is a weakling. Sam Winchester gets fucked over and shat on by everyone. Well you don't give these fuckers the satisfaction, alright, Sam?"

In response, Sam sent another right hook, feeling the cold, locked-down fury in his gut keep him balanced. It was like someone had somehow captured a tornado inside him, his arms lashing and bashing, but inside, in the centre of his mind was a total, uncanny calm.

"You need to take them out before they get to you. You need to be soulless…" Sam sent a right uppercut, and then felt everything go into slow motion as he watched his hand track an unavoidable path to Gabriel's jaw. Next thing he knew, the smaller man was on the floor, blinking up at him as he cursed out the pain.

"Fuck… Jesus shit…"

"Gabriel… crap, I'm so sorry, I just…"

"That's what I'm talking about!" Gabriel laughed, jumping to his feet as he pushed off the pads and massaged his jaw. "Now you get what I mean, you need that hard, cold fury."

"You ok?" Dean yelled, from the sidelines. Gabriel gave him the thumbs up.

"Go fetch me an ice pack, would you? And there should be some protein shake in the fridge for Sam. He's got to bulk up." Gabriel grinned at him, although his tender jaw made him wince. "We'll take a break, so I can call Zach. Need to tell him that, in two weeks time, he's going to be introducing Soulless Sam Winchester."

'Soulless Sam' rolled his new name around his head, as he helped Gabriel to a seat and ran to the kitchen for an ice pack. Part of him was really, genuinely excited. Part of him just felt even more nauseous.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam was glad to take a break, left to his own thoughts on one of the plastic fold-out chairs. Dean and Jo had gotten bored shortly after he'd knocked Gabriel to the floor, so now he was finally given some space to think.

He still couldn't believe he'd hit Gabriel. He felt really bad. Like, accidentally hit a guy at a cross-walk bad.

He felt kind of bad for being a monumental pain in Gabriel's ass, too. The guy had called Sam his 'one last hope', whatever that meant. He didn't have to be out here, training Sam. But he was. Every day, with a smile on his face and a load of stupid jokes about Sam's hair.

As if summoned, the smaller man re-entered Bobby's training barn, pocketing his phone and whistling. He had been whistling the same catchy, nameless tune all week, and Sam was starting to get irritated.

"What is that?"

"Hmm?" Gabriel swiped his bottle of water, swigging some himself as he reclined in the next chair.

"The song. I keep thinking I should know it."

"Oh, that. It's… nothing. Song from a movie. Can't even remember, myself. Anyway, business." He slapped Sam's knee. "I have got word from the big Z, he says he can fit you in a week from tomorrow. That means we have two weeks to train like crazy, and get you a costume."

"Great." Sam tried to smile, even though his insides felt like they were trying to become outsides. "Gabriel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For… you know, agreeing to this whole thing. I know I can be an ass…"

"Eh." Gabriel waved it aside, flinging an arm around Sam's shoulders. "You and me, kid. If you win this first fight, there is nothing you can't do. I always wanted a champ on my side, and you know, I think you might be it."

"Why do you…" Sam turned to face Gabriel, trailing off when he realised that he and Gabriel were nose to nose. His insides stilled, before squirming in exactly the opposite direction. He found himself staring at the gentle pucker and curve of Gabriel's lips. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through his system… maybe it was the sleepless nights on Dean's couch. Maybe it was the utter heartbreak he'd gone through in the last year, but god, he wanted to throw himself at-

"Uh, I should start on that costume issue." Gabriel flashed a quick smile as he ducked out of Sam's personal space, before striding swiftly out of the barn. Sam felt about an inch tall.

And by the next morning, it hadn't gone away.

He trudged up to the hill where he met Gabriel every morning, and really hoped the guy wasn't going to give him a hard time over the awkward almost-kiss. He had hoped it, but he was expecting… something. A few teasing remarks, an awkward laugh, maybe even a 'what the hell was that', but he got nothing.

Gabriel was already on the bench, waiting for him.

"You're late."

"Yeah, I…"

"Get running. Between the shuttle runs and the weight training, we've got to get you to a costume-making friend of mine. Ain't enough hours in the day, champ, so get running."

Sam faltered for a moment, wondering if he should apologise. Or maybe there was nothing there. Maybe he'd been the only one to pick up on it.

Therefore, he reasoned, mentioning anything would be incredibly embarrassing and, all in all, a dumb-ass move.

Sam started to run.

The running itself came automatically now; he'd been doing this pretty much every day for the last week and a half. His feet found the path and his brain was free to wander.

He'd nearly kissed Gabriel.

It wasn't like it was unprecedented, he supposed, he had known since high school that he wasn't just into girls.

But Christ, could he have picked a worse person?

His trainer. The guy was turning him into a machine that could both take and dole out grievous bodily harm, and he was crushing on him. Was that irony? Sam was pretty sure that was irony. Or poetic justice. Or just life taking another massive dump on him.

"Hurry it up, Sasquatch." Gabriel called, from the top of the hill. "I'd like to live to see you fight, not die of old age while you're training."

Sam pushed it all down, and urged his legs to move faster. Whatever it was, whatever he was feeling, he just had to push it all away and ignore it. Even if there was the slimmest, most outside chance that it wasn't a horrifically bad idea, he knew he was in no way ready to risk getting his heart broken all over again. He was just going to adopt the patented Winchester Repress'n'Deny method.

He was Soulless Sam Winchester, after all.

Soulless Sam didn't deal in 'feelings'.

(-*-)

Gabriel's 'friend' who made costumes turned out to be one of the growing amounts of people who Sam was sure should not be involved in illegal cage fighting. He had said his name was Chuck, but the name on the front of the shop ('Sports Goods Warehouse') was Carver. Apparently, Carver sold sports goods to law abiding citizens at low, low prices. Chuck was the mastermind who created wrestling costumes.

"Ok, so we're thinking blacks, greys… going for understated and imposing, right?" Chuck looked through a clothing rail that looked like it had been hastily shoved into the shop's basement some years ago.

"That's the plan." Gabriel stood at the door, leaning casually against the frame. He shot a wink at Sam. Sam returned his attention to the rack of clothes.

"Should be simple enough. Black tights, black tunic..."

"Matching accessories?" Sam quipped, shooting a glare at Chuck. The smaller man shrugged.

"Hey buddy, what you're doing is as much about showmanship as the pro league… are you going to cut your hair?"

"Why would I cut my hair?"

"It just… seems like you've got a lot of hair for someone to grab onto. Wouldn't that … be kind of a weakness, given your chosen field?"

"They'd have to reach it first." Gabriel smirked, pushing off the door frame. "I reckon he'll be alright. Tunic tights and slippers, I don't think he'll need anything else. You got his stats?"

"Yeah. Have it all done by Monday."

"Make it tomorrow and I'll get you in to the match for free."

"Deal." Chuck grinned, slapping Sam on the arm. "See you on Friday, kid."

Sam left the Sporting Goods Warehouse, making an effort not to respond to any of Gabriel's comments about him looking like a pretty princess.

(-*-)

The 'weight-lifting' was as gruelling as ever, with Sam lugging busted amps in and out of the storage room, while Gabriel and Ash sat back and talked. Sam ignored them, focusing all his effort on lifting and carrying. He didn't want to hear Gabriel talking, or laughing. He didn't want to imagine those lips moving. It was driving him a little bit crazy.

He finished shoving the last amp back into place, and headed quickly for the door.

"Where are you going?" Gabriel looked up from his notepad.

"Bathroom." Sam grunted.

"backstage, first door on your left." Ash yelled after him. "But open a goddamn window, the place is a stinkbox."

As soon as Sam shoved through into the restroom, he headed straight for the chipped, rust-stained sinks. The mirror, flecked and stained through age alone, told him he looked as foul as he felt; cheeks pink, hair damp with sweat, shirt likewise. He ran the tap, holding his wrists under the cool water. He didn't need to use the bathroom. He just wanted to get away from…

"Hey Samsquatch, good news."

Gabriel.

Sam didn't move from his place by the sink. He met Gabriel's eyes in the mirror.

"I figure you've been training so hard you can take the day off tomorrow. Then we can get back to it, and have six days of hard work. Here." Gabriel reached into his pocket, and took out a chunky leather wallet. He produced a few bills, and held them out to Sam. "Treat yourself to a big dinner. You've earned it."

"No, thanks."

"Take it." Gabriel waved the bills. Sam ignored him. Gabriel scowled for a moment, before crossing the room in three strides and pushing the money into Sam's pocket. "You need to eat, kid. Put some more muscle on you."

"I don't…" Sam had been about to protest that he didn't want Gabriel's money, but he had suddenly found himself, yet again, nose to nose with his trainer. Sam screamed at himself, get out, get away, but he couldn't pull himself together enough to move. So Gabriel moved.

He reached up, grabbing Sam's neck and pulling him down, their lips crashing together. Sam could instantly feel Gabriel's tongue pressing at the seam of his lips, demanding more. They stumbled backwards, Sam caught off guard by Gabriel's sudden physicality, and he felt the grimy, cold porcelain tile rub unapologetically against his back. Gabriel's tongue was in his mouth, his hand was under his shirt, and Sam, much as all his alarm bells were going off, was responding gladly.

He pulled Gabriel closer, one leg either side of the smaller man's hips, his back arching as he felt Gabriel's fingernails bite his skin. He pulled away, wanting to say something, feeling like he should ask what this meant or… well, anything, but Gabriel laid a finger over his lips and glared at him.

No speaking. Sam got the hint, and nodded dumbly. As if in reward for his silence, Gabriel's lips fell to Sam's neck and his teeth scraped across the tender flesh. Sam groaned a little, earning himself a sly smirk and, much to his surprise, Gabriel's hands on his sweat pants. In a movement almost too fast for Sam to make sense of, he found himself very suddenly exposed. A few rough shoves against his shoulder, and he found himself bracing against the gun-metal grey door of one of the stalls, his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs, and Gabriel's firm hands massaging his cock.

The alarm bells shut off. Everything shut off. One hand wedged between his shoulder blades, one hand travelling from head to shaft, Gabriel fitted in behind him perfectly. Sam was gone, lost in the buzz of contact.

It was fast. Gabriel was going for quick, dirty and guttural. There was nothing tender, nothing that could suggest this was a romantic event. Just his fingers tracking the bones of Sam's hips, the grooves of his abdomen, cupping his balls and running firm, swift strokes up the shaft of his dick, before circling the head and sweeping back down.

Sam bit back groans and huffs of excitement, feeling Gabriel tense and sure behind him. He was still fully clothed and still, Sam could feel as the smaller man pushed up against him, barely half hard. He wasn't getting off on this. Maybe that wasn't the purpose of the exercise; for whatever reason, he just wanted to watch Sam come.

No thinking, Sam told himself. Just enjoy it.

Gabriel worked him, reading each quiet puff of breath or tensing muscle as clearly as if Sam had told him what to do. He carried on faster, gripping firmer, until Sam couldn't hold the heat any longer. He came, gasping for air like Gabriel had been holding his head under water, not giving him a hand job in a bathroom stall.

Sam stood, gasping, weak at the knees.

Gabriel stepped back, and seemed for a moment unsure of what to do next. He walked over to the sinks and washed Sam's sticky mess off of his hand.

"See you Monday." Gabriel muttered, catching Sam's eye briefly, in the mirror, before walking out.

(-*-)

Gabriel had done a very, very stupid thing.

He had done a lot of stupid things in his life, he told himself, but this one set new records.

Becoming a trainer in an illegal cage fighting ring is a stupid thing.

Going back to that job once he'd got himself a real, cushy career as a talent scout, working both jobs at once and hoping no one found out? That was a very stupid thing.

But cornering the guy he had come out of retirement to turn into a champ… cornering him in a grimy public restroom, giving him money and then giving him a hand job? That was a special kind of stupid.

He had… He hadn't thought about… there was so much wrong with what he just did, he could barely bring himself to think about it. Because, believe it or not, it was probably the most stupid thing he'd ever done.

Well… maybe the second stupidest.

The first stupidest would probably have been the incident that started him on this whole descent into madness.

He had been sixteen years old, at the time, and graced with two very dangerous things. The first was a large inheritance from his parents, and the second was a short attention span. It had been easy enough to get hold of a fake ID and find a bouncer who'd take bribes. So Gabriel had hit the clubs, re-enacting that week's episode of Queer as Folk. Drink, drugs, sex… he'd tried most of it. Not so much that he would get himself in any real trouble, but just enough for the novelty to excite him. As soon as it had stopped being a 'fun new thing', Gabriel stopped being interested. It was in a bathroom, similar to the one he'd just jerked off an amateur cage wrestler in, that it had happened.

Gabriel had just been going about his business, for once. But, true to form, if he wasn't looking for trouble, trouble seemed to find him. As he left the stall, he saw a guy staring at his fallen comrade.

"Fuck's sake." The guy had scowled. "Hey, kid, you want to help me out?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Can't hold his pills. Just… look, just, get me off, would you?"

His pants were already down, he was quite clearly about to have some fun before his friend had taken a nap. Gabriel had figured someone may as well have fun that evening, so he went ahead and helped the guy out.

The guy bought him a drink for his troubles. Turns out the guy was in an underground cage wrestling ring, and could really do with an assistant to help with his training; note down times, chart calorie intake… all the boring stuff he didn't want to do. Gabriel had said sure, for fifty bucks a week. And then he'd just stuck. Prices had gotten higher, his knowledge had expanded… that guy had died of internal haemorrhaging some ten years ago. But Gabriel had risen through the ranks. He had been one of the top trainers out there.

But he'd never had someone win the top title. He'd never been responsible for a champion.

And he'd thought he was ok with that. Talent scouting, now, he had an actual, legal job.

But apparently the novelty had worn off that, too.

So here he was, walking home, thinking of how he had done a very, very stupid thing.

He opened the door, wiping his hand on the inside of his jacket pocket. He knew it was the guilt talking, but he could still smell the ghost of Sam's sweat on him, almost feel the tacky residue of Sam's come on his fingers. God, he did some stupid, stupid things.

"You're home!" Came a squeak, as he closed the door behind him.

"Hey, princess." He grinned, pushing aside his thoughts to lift the smiling bundle of dark curls up into a hug. "I take it you missed me?"

"Jesse wouldn't let me choose the film…"

"Well, you tell Jesse that I say it's your turn."

"Thank you." She gave him a hug, and he set her down on the floor again. The little girl ran screaming to the living room, to face her brother.

"But…" Jesse's plaintive wail came through to the hall, and Gabriel rolled his eyes and marched over to the living room.

"You watched your film yesterday. Today, it's Audrey's turn." He raised his eyebrows at the ten year old, who sulked but didn't protest as Audrey fiddled with the DVD player.

"I love it when you take control like that." The voice purred, full of sarcasm and laughter, from behind him. Gabriel turned his smile on the tall, tanned beauty who was watching him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you wanted something."

"Just some love." She smiled her wolfish smile, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"And?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow, grinning right back at her as he ran his hand over her long, dark hair.

"And I burned dinner so we may need to get takeout."

Gabriel laughed, pulling her in tighter.

"Hey, Kali?"

"Yes?"

"Tonight, once the kids are in bed, you and me… we have to have a talk."

"Good, I hope?" She pouted. Gabriel shrugged.

"That depends on your point of view."


	5. Chapter 5

Normally, if asked what he would do on a day off, Sam would say sleep in, eat big meals, watch TV and read.

On this particular day off, however, he found himself more in "fretting" mode than "relaxing".

"Chill out," Dean said, less than helpfully. Sam had not told Dean about the events of the previous day, and he was pretty sure he never would. He was pretty sure that, should it come to a human-rights-defying water-boarding type session, he would admit to murders he didn't commit before he told anyone about Gabriel's hand-job in the bathroom. But Dean, being blessed as he was with eyes and a functioning brain, could tell that something was up with his brother.

Surliness, evasiveness and aggression were… well, they weren't exactly new, but not responding when Dean teased him about his being a gigantic prissy bitch was something of a tell.

"You've got the day off. Just forget about the fight and relax."

"The fight. Yeah. I'm… I'm going for a run. Just… to the mall and back. You want anything?"

"No. And you shouldn't be running." The toaster chose that moment to punctuate Dean's point, firing out a couple of chocolate pop tarts. "You should just sit down and rest."

But Sam was already out the door.

Sam spent most of the day doing minor workouts, forcing himself to eat and trying to better acquaint himself with "Soulless Sam". The guy seemed like kind of a dick, but he at least wasn't so confused and worried by the whole Gabriel fiasco. Sam kept finding himself wondering what it meant, if it meant anything, and why it had happened, and whether he wanted it to mean anything, and why he couldn't stop thinking about it…

Every time that sort of question occurred, he handed the reigns over to Soulless Sam for a bit. Soulless Sam just scowled at the questions until they went away, and worked out.

Healthy? No.

Effective? Yes. For now, anyway.

By the next morning, Sam was ready and waiting at the bench by six thirty, his hoodie pulled tight against a chill wind, jogging on the spot to keep warm. His phone buzzed almost sullenly, as if it too resented the unseasonal chill. Sam found a text from Gabriel waiting for him. He was to start the morning's training without him; Gabriel would meet him at Bobby's at twelve.

No explanation.

No emotion.

Just a curt, pretend-like-nothing-happened text.

Sam couldn't leave it, though. He had to talk to Gabriel about what the hell was going on, otherwise he was pretty sure he might go mad. That was the thought that got him through training. He couldn't think about anything else, and he just had to be mature, and ask how he was supposed to feel about them.

Or, that had been the plan.

When he got to Bobby's, Dean and his trainer were already out in the barn, practicing some sparring.

"Sam." Bobby grunted, by way of greeting. "Gabriel said something about you needing to spar. Said he'd be here himself a little later. You against Dean, and no holding back because you're brothers. Guy you're up against won't do you the same favour."

"Do you know who that is?"

"Nope. Whoever Zachariah can talk into pummelling the new guy, I guess." Bobby slapped Sam's shoulder as he left the cage. "Get fighting, kid."

Sam was perhaps a little happier than he should be to beat his brother to a pulp, but then he'd had a very frustrating few days. And, it was just as Sam was wiping blood from his brow and ramming Dean's face into the canvas that the barn doors opened with a heavy thud.

"I'm here." Gabriel sounded bored already. "Gifts are unnecessary, but welcome."

"Where the… ow, OW!" Sam felt the wind rush from his lungs as Dean took advantage of the momentary distraction. His ankle caned from where Dean had pulled it off the floor, and he now had a knee on his neck.

"Bang. You're dead." Dean grinned. Sam, pulling a bitchface worthy of awards, punched Dean in the stomach and scrambled quickly to his feet.

"I swear, Dean, I will kill you."

"Not yet you won't. Go talk to your organ-grinder, I need a break."

"I'll give you a break." Sam grumbled, as he turned his glare on Gabriel. "Break your damn neck…"

To his credit, he did manage to look a little guilty. He kind of looked like he'd lost sleep, with shadows under his eyes and his hair messed up. Sam wondered whether it was just guilt, or maybe he was angry at himself. Gabriel's hands were balled into fists at his sides, clenching and releasing. Hands that only a few days ago… Sam stopped that train of thought, because he really didn't want it in his head.

"So I see you've been training…"

"Gabriel." The woman's voice came from the doorway to the barn, and Sam watched as Gabriel stepped back half a pace. For a moment, before he tore his eyes away to look at her, Sam could see a pathetic, half-formed apology in Gabriel's gaze. The woman didn't seem to notice it, though, content to slink up to Gabriel and present him with a blue plastic bag, before wrapping her arms around him.

"You left this in the car."

"Ah, knew I forgot something… thanks, babe…"

"So this is what you risk arrest for?" She ran her eyes over the barn, and then over Sam. Sam was trying hard to remain on his feet, because he suddenly felt like Dean's knee was on his windpipe again.

"It's the thrill of the fight." Gabriel smiled, weakly. "I'm an addict."

"Kali." She presented her hand to Sam. "You must be the boy wonder he told me about."

"Sam." It was about all he could say. "I should get back to training."

"I won't keep him any longer." Kali smiled, her dark red lips shining under the lights. Shining as they pressed a deep, sultry kiss to Gabriel's. "Don't be late home."

"Wouldn't dare." Gabriel smiled, watching her leave. By the time she had gone, Sam was already climbing out of the cage and walking quickly to the punch bags. Gabriel followed.

"So, I got your costume from Chuck's…"

Sam landed a punch squarely against the bag. He found himself hurriedly cleaning and packing away his emotions, like a teenager hurriedly deleting the internet search history. He found himself making way for Soulless Sam, even without trying.

"You, uh… you ok? Have a nice day off?"

Sam landed a quick volley of jabs, watching the bag recoil from his blows.

"Come on, Sam, say something."

"Not with Dean and Bobby here." He managed, before snatching up his bottle of water from the chairs. "Because you know what I want to talk about, and you know I'll want some privacy for that."

"Fair enough." Gabriel nodded. "We'll go somewhere you can yell at me and not be overheard. But… you know, nowhere you can hide a body." He gave a wan smile, which Sam did not return. "Come on, chuckles, give me something."

Sam continued to drain his water bottle, made a conscious effort not to look at Gabriel, and headed back into the cage.

"Dean, come on. I need more sparring practice."

"Alright, bitch, but you'll just lose again."

Gabriel watched with a reluctant guilt as Sam let loose strength he hadn't previously known he had.

(-*-)

Fighting as Soulless Sam was almost invigorating. It was taking all the emotions, all the guilt and shame and anger, and turning them into a cold, fierce ball of nitrogen. It fizzed and smoked away in his gut, powering his muscles and slowing his brain. He could see people's weak-spots, he could feel his own blood pumping in his veins… he heard, saw, felt everything, and, if so inclined, could take full advantage to create his opponent's downfall.

Sometimes it didn't work. Sometimes he missed, he felt the ice wall slip away and let his thoughts and feelings get the better of him. He would hesitate. He would fall.

But, the more he forced himself up, back behind the wall, the quicker he recovered.

Eventually, cut and bruised but not the worse for wear, Bobby called time. Dean, laughing between winces, clapped Sam on the soldier and told him he'd look forward to Friday. Gabriel jerked his head towards the door.

"Let's go warm down, champ."

Sam felt the cold mask of his soulless alter-ego rush away as the evening opened up around him, the air returning him to his senses. Sam stretched his aching arms, and made yet another conscious effort not to look at Gabriel.

"So, what are you more angry at me about?" Gabriel pulled his jacket tight around him. "Just asking for information."

"Why should I be angry at you?" Sam scowled. "The blanking me all weekend? The fact that you cornered me in a bathroom to jerk me off first? Or the fact that you apparently have a wife you didn't mention?"

"Girlfriend." Gabriel corrected, earning himself a very unimpressed glare.  
>"That's it? Seriously?"<br>"Look, I did a stupid thing… I thought I was picking up on some… feelings. From you. So I wanted to get them out in the open and dealt with, because that's not a situation that's good for your training. I got… I went about it the wrong way. It was a mistake. Sorry. I'm sorry."

Gabriel said the words the way most would read a foreign place name. It figured that those weren't the most familiar words to him.

Sam huffed, not really sure what to say. He couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make the situation worse. And he was tired. Very tired.

"Fine. Whatever. Forget it."

Gabriel handed him the blue bag, and smiled, seeming relieved, but still a little awkward.

"Training as usual tomorrow morning. Bright and early."

"Yeah." Sam took the bag, jogged home and made a serious effort not to think about anything. He fell dead asleep on the couch as soon as he got through the door, and not even Dean coming in late and partly drunk managed to wake him.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A.n.: Just so you know I'm not dead! Life has suddenly gone into overdrive, so I'm having to slow down the updates. Still, here's something.**_

Sam woke up with the bleary lack of direction that comes from dreamless sleep. With great effort, he managed to lift his head from the pillow and grope sightlessly for his watch.

Eight a.m.

Shit.

He had a feeling Gabriel wouldn't be too happy with that level of lateness, especially four days before his first big fight. And, as if to prove that the crazy little sadist fed on Sam's guilt and fear, Sam's phone vibrated off of the end table and landed on his face.

Sam wasn't at all surprised to find the text from Gabriel. He was, however, surprised that it read "training called off: illness has struck". Sam was almost at a loss, finding himself very suddenly awake, but without motivation to get up. Deciding that this was still probably Gabriel's fault, he dragged himself off of the pull-out couch and into a pair of jeans.

Time for breakfast, he guessed, as he started on a protein shake and half a pack of bacon.

He hated protein shakes.

Stupid training.

Stupid trainer.

He'd acted like he wasn't that upset with Gabriel, after meeting Kali. But really, what else could he have done? Any thoughts or feelings Sam had been carefully making sure were bound, gagged and shoved down a well had been unceremoniously brought back to the surface of his mind. Gabriel had claimed their… "moment" was an attempt to clear the air and make things better, and since he apparently had a girlfriend, Sam wasn't about to correct him.

It wasn't the idea of being attracted to another man; Sam had… well, growing up with someone as indiscriminate as Dean meant that Sam was always open to the fluidity of his sexuality. He'd been in relationships of varying length and happiness with both men and women, although his more recent relationships had led him to believe this was something he'd grown out of. Actually, given the way his more recent relationships had ended, he was starting to think he might be brain-damaged if he thought getting mixed up in another one was a good idea.

He glared at his phone. And now Gabriel was coming into his thoughts, unbidden, while giving Sam phony sounding reasons they couldn't see each other.

His fight was, like, four days away. He needed all the training he could get. How selfish could Gabriel be?

Or, another part of Sam's brain chipped in. how ill does he have to be to stop training?

He's faking, Sam told himself, mostly to keep from feeling guilty.

Except Gabriel had no social boundaries, and it was unlikely he was embarrassed over something like this, which meant he might have been telling the truth.

Sam had never been so grateful to see Dean as he was when his older brother interrupted this hula-hoop of thought.

"No training this morning?"

"Gabriel called it off."

"Cool." Dean shuffled sleepily over to the coffee pot, and looked for a moment like he was seriously considering forgoing the mug. "Fight on Friday. You scared?"

"Not… too much."

"That's a lie."  
>"No, I'm… I'm not that scared."<p>

"Then you've fallen down and hit your head. You should be scared, we still don't know who you're up against."

"The Dragon." The voice came from Dean's bedroom, and made Sam jump. He turned to see a sleepy, half-dressed ex-medical professional still doing up his belt.

"Hi, Cas." Sam said, glaring at Dean. Dean smirked and shrugged.

"It's illegal to bribe the medical official for information. Rules say nothing about fucking him."

"You're up against The Dragon. Tall, stocky, brute-forcish. New guy, just like you."

"What's he wear?" Dean asked, as Cas took his coffee from him and drained the mug.

"You just admitted to fucking a dude and that's still the gayest thing you've said this morning." Sam said, earning himself a punch to the shoulder.

"Costume is all about psyching the other guy out. If you know what he wears, he can't freak you."

"Ripped jeans over black tights, mask… has dragon wings tattooed down his back. Nothing unusual."

Sam finished his breakfast and got up from the table, deciding it would be best to leave Cas and Dean alone. He grabbed the blue bag Gabriel had given him and headed to the bathroom. He hadn't even looked at his costume yet, and somehow he had a feeling it would be less freaky or imposing, and more ridiculously dorky.

In the bathroom, he emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor. Black tunic, black tights… It seemed fairly straight forward, although he was for some reason having a hard time grasping the concept of himself wearing… he couldn't even think it. Leggings. No, that still sounded stupid. They didn't look like they were going to fit, but he had to presume Chuck knew what he was doing.

Sam picked up the tunic and unfurled it, supposing he should try it on. It was then that something fell out of the folded material and landed with a clatter on the bathroom floor. Curious, Sam picked it up. It was long, thin and made of white plastic. He turned it over and the label on the back clearly identified it as an EpiPen. Along with an address to return it to, if lost.

Sam's brain flashed into overdrive.

Shit, shit shit, went Sam's brain, what if Gabriel needs to take the EpiPen? What if that's why he's ill and he's going to die because he doesn't have it, because it must have fallen into the bag, what if… Sam was already in his shoes and out the door, running full pelt to the address on the back of the pen.

He eventually found his way to the suburbs, in which rows of neat, if slightly aged houses sat quietly next to each other. At the end of the street, a house sat separate from all the others, the lawn empty and with a sleek black car sat in the driveway. It matched the address. Sam knocked on the door.

"Hang on…" Gabriel's voice came from somewhere inside the house, followed by quick footsteps. He opened the door, and seemed utterly surprised to see Sam.

Of course, Sam was utterly surprised to see Gabriel, looking a little tired but ultimately fine.

"Sam? What are you doing here?"

"I… found this in the bag you gave me." He said, handing over the pen. "I thought you were ill?"

"Uh…" Gabriel stared at Sam for a moment, in the way a rabbit stares at the bulbs on the front of a ten ton semi truck. Then, in an instant, he snatched the pen from Sam and started to close the door, when a plaintive wail echoed from inside the house.

"It happened again… Can you get me some water please?"

Sam stared at Gabriel, who was busy making guilty but determined eye contact with the door step.

"That didn't sound like Kali."

Gabriel gave an awkward sigh, and stepped back from the door, waving Sam in.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam followed Gabriel into the house with some trepidation; this was a whole area of Gabriel's life that he'd never even asked about before. The house was simple and straightforward, with white walls, blue carpets and black furniture. There was a heap of blankets on the couch, Sam noted, as he followed Gabriel through to the kitchen.

"Thanks, I suppose, for bringing this over." Gabriel said with an awkward smile. He grabbed a glass from a cabinet and poured some water out of the tap, before taking the plastic washing-up bowl in his free hand. "And… eh, I suppose you'd have found out sooner or later…"

Gabriel gave Sam another awkward half smile, before pushing past him, back into the main living room.

A little girl with black hair and a flushed pink face was clambering onto the couch and making a nest out of the blankets. Sam's eyebrows shot so far up his head they may have joined on to his hairline.

"Here you go, princess." Gabriel helped tuck her in, and set the plastic bowl down beside her before giving her the water. "Just take little sips, ok?"

"Who's that?"

She looked at Sam with wary mistrust.

"He's a friend of mine, from work."

"Oh…" She took a sip of water. "Is he one of the people you're going to make famous?"

"Yeah, sort of." Gabriel smiled, and smoothed her hair. "His name's Sam."

"Hi Sam." She said, looking at him again. "I'm Audrey."

Sam nodded.

"Hi," he managed, after a while.

Gabriel forced a smile.

"Sam and I are just going to talk in the kitchen, ok? You need me, you call. Try to sleep."

Audrey nodded, and let her head fall back against the armrest of the couch.

Gabriel shepherded Sam's stunned, immobile form back into the kitchen.

"A kid?" He hissed, once his brain had started up again. Then he caught sight of the photos on the fridge. "Two kids?"

"Yeah, Jesse and Audrey." Gabriel nodded, leaning against the counter.

"A wife and two kids, and you didn't think to mention that?"

"Woah, woah, Sasquatch. A girlfriend and two godkids, yes." He shrugged, like it excused him of all doubt. "They moved in last year, after their dad got, uh… put away."

"Oh, well that's fine then. That completely excuses you."

"I wasn't going to tell you about it because I didn't think it was relevant. The kids don't know about the coaching and I want to keep it that way."

"Gabriel, that's not what I'm talking about and you know it."

Sam stared at his trainer for a moment, and saw, just for a split second, Gabriel's face drop. When he resumed his façade, he was just as cool and detached as ever.

"Jeez, Sam, I thought we'd said that was a one off poor choice and we were just going to let it go."

"No, you said that."

"Look, I can't help it if you can't distinguish between business and pleasure…"

Gabriel turned on Sam, his eyes stern and commanding. Sam's hands, without any authorisation from the rest of him, grabbed Gabriel's neck and pulled him into a kiss.

For a second, Gabriel was stunned.

Then, he kissed back.

Then, he shoved Sam away and back-tracked a couple of paces.

"You can't tell me you haven't been thinking about me, Gabe…"

"Don't flatter yourself, kid…" Gabriel stared at the floor. "You should be training, anyway."

Sam's heart skipped a beat.

"Gabe?"

"Don't call me that. Look, Audrey's real sick… thanks for bringing back the pen, but I've really got my hands full here. I think you should train by yourself a bit, get over these pre-fight nerves."

"They're not…"

"It's just nerves, kid, seen it a million times before. Keep training, and I'll see you on Friday… You can see yourself out."

Gabriel ducked out of the kitchen.

The walk to the front door felt like the longest mile he'd ever run. But then, it takes a long time to travel anywhere when you're two inches tall.

(-*-)

Dean had never seen anyone so determined to follow training regime. Every day, at eight on the dot, Sam was out of the door and wasn't back until ten, when he ate a big lunch, did sit ups with his feet under the couch, and then left for, presumably, more training. He seemed happy enough, being his usual, goofy self whenever Dean asked how he was feeling.

But Dean knew better than to buy it.

"Maybe he's nervous." Cas shrugged, as he poured Dean another cup of coffee.

"Maybe… I don't know, something's up."

"He's big and tough enough to look out for himself, whatever it is." Cas pressed the coffee into Dean's hands, locking eyes with him. "You should be focusing on getting your own strength up."

"Why? You hear something from Zach? Am I up again next week?"

"No idea, I barely speak to Zachariah."

Dean sipped his coffee.

"So… why should I get my strength up?"

"Because my landlord kicked me out, and I was intending to fuck for roof. And I imagine you'll want to keep up with me."

Dean thought for a moment, before pouring some milk into his coffee.

(-*-)

Friday arrived with an almost sickening jolt. Sam spent most of the day allowing Dean to distract him from thoughts of his imminent death.

The time seemed to drag, the hours between him and the fight stretching out endlessly, until he started to relax, and then they passed without hesitation.

Sam felt confused, and oddly nauseous.

"Sam." Dean's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. "It's eight. We should get going."

The walk down to the old battery factory felt like a battle in and of itself. The pavement seemed to dip and swim, sucking at Sam's feet and weighing him down.

"Hey. You'll be fine. Cas'll be looking out for you."

Sam didn't respond. He was pretty sure he'd be sick if he opened his mouth.

Dean ushered him through to the changing rooms, pressed the blue carrier bag into his hands, and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Good luck. Get ready. Don't freak, and try not to think about dying."

Oddly, that was possibly the best thing he could have said.

Sam pulled everything back, put up the ice wall, and got changed. He put his head under the tap in the bathroom, feeling the cold water numb him a little, and put on black greasepaint under his eyes. The door opened, and Crowley walked in, followed by Gabriel.

"So this is Soulless Sam..."

"How you holdin' up, kid?"

Gabriel looked apologetic, at least. Concerned, even. Sam rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms.

"I'm ready."

"Ooh, good to hear." Crowley gave a facetious, shark-like smile, before turning on his heel. "One minute."

Gabriel let the door fall closed.

"Sam?"

"Don't." Sam stared at the door, trying as hard as he could to keep himself behind his ice wall and let Soulless Sam do the work. Let Soulless Sam walk out and fight. "You're going to make me lose my focus."

Gabriel nodded, before slapping his arm.

"I'll be ringside, rootin' for you."

Sam nodded. Gabriel left. Sam heard Crowley's voice as he bated the animal crowd.


	8. Chapter 8

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Crowley began, smirking at the crowd, "or whatever it is that you sorry specimens of humanity are… do I have a fight for you tonight. All the way from Queens, we have a creature who annihilated every scumbag and ravaged every virgin… there were considerably more of one than the other… in his old neighbourhood. He's come to us to find new meats to tear into. He's the invader. The blight that will tear through our town… The Dragon."

The Dragon stalked towards the ring, wearing only black leggings, his broad back inked with tattoos of blood red dragon wings. His face was covered with (hopefully fake) blood. The crowd hissed at him, screeching for him to go back where he came from. He spat and roared right back. Crowley silenced the crowd with a wave of his hand.

"Alright, alright… now, the question is, who could possibly defeat this beast? Who dares challenge this destroyer, this monster? He'd have to be either brave, or stupid… let's find out."

Sam felt his guts twist. He took a deep breath and felt the icy calm descend on him, as Soulless Sam calmly took the reins, ready for his big debut.

"Fresh from hell itself, deadened to pain and torture through an eternity of suffering, the likes of which mere mortals cannot imagine, and you twisted filth probably dream of. People! He is Soulless Sam."

Sam pushed the doors open and marched dutifully up to the ring. He did not taunt the audience. He did not encourage their cat calls and screeches. It was all he could do not to recoil at the sight of the seething, jeering mass. When he got into the ring, he gave them the barest acknowledgement, a surmising glance, and that seemed to whip them into more of a fury than all of the Dragon's roaring and spitting combined. Crowley motioned for them both to meet in the centre of the ring.

"Anything goes," he said, knowing that both men were too busy locking eyes with each other. "If I see blood, I call time for medical attention. If you want out, call submission. Ready?"

The Dragon nodded.

With what felt like a huge effort, Sam nodded too. Crowley backed out of the ring and locked the door.

"FIGHT!"

The Dragon wasted no time, lowering his head and running straight for Sam's stomach, hoping to wind him and knock him over. But Sam was prepared, and took the brunt of the attack, before bringing both fists down and landing a forceful blow on the Dragon's spine. He fell to the floor, and Sam managed to put some space between them again. He focused on his breathing, counted his heartbeats, and did the best he could to ignore the terrifying blood-lust cries of the faces around the ring. He needed to keep a cold, calculated view. Anger wasn't enough. Gabriel had taught him that. He needed hatred.

The Dragon got back on his feet and stood ready to fight. Sam blocked the first roundhouse kick, and the two punches that followed in quick succession, but misjudged the swing at his ankles that sent him sprawling into the canvas. He yelled in pain as he felt the other man's body drop onto his spine.

_Hate._

The voice was his own, but not. It came from somewhere deep inside, from the ember that sparked into the white flame of hatred, it was the light that fed Soulless Sam.

_Hate Dean for having this life. _

_Hate Dad for screwing you up._

_Hate Mom for dying._

_Hate Gabriel for lying._

_Hate Jess for ditching you._

That triggered it. Sam pushed himself up, grabbing the Dragon's shoulders and shoving him face forward into the bars of the cage once, then twice, before pushing with all his might for the third time, and holding him there.

"Bastard." He managed, as he used the hand that wasn't holding the other man in place to punch him in the small of his back. The man growled and yelled, but that just provoked him more. Again, he slammed the guy against the bars of the cage, seeing in him ever jerk who had ever made his life more difficult, every fight he had ever backed down from, and every wrong he had not been able to right. Sam grabbed the guy by his shaggy hair and threw his head down, just as he was bringing his knee up. There was a sickening crunch and a small explosion of blood as the Dragon lost his snout to Soulless Sam's knee.

"TIME!" Crowley shouted, re-entering the ring.

Sam backed off, counting his heartbeats again.

The Dragon shook his head as he lowered himself to the canvas, Castiel already stepping into the ring with his plastic first aid box. He spoke with the Dragon for a moment, trying to decipher the words that were being murmured through a stream of blood. Cas nodded to Crowley. Crowley rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated scowl, before raising the microphone once more.

"It appears that the "mighty" Dragon was no match for our Soulless competitor here… The weakling submits."

There was much booing and screaming from the crowd as Crowley raised Sam's hand in the air, before dropping it in disgust.

"I know," he said, but was drowned out by the audience. Casually, he walked to the side of the ring, reached over and placed the microphone in front of one of the speakers, summoning an equally horrific shriek of feedback. The audience fell silent. "Dogs. I know you were promised a night of pain and slaughter, and this first bout has been somewhat unsatisfactory. Pity him, please. Stamina, after all, takes practice."

The audience jeered and hooted as the Dragon was lead out of the ring by Castiel. That was when Sam saw Gabriel by the door, motioning for him to leave. Sam nodded, and headed for the door.

"Well, all I can offer you is another bout. This time by more seasoned, more reckless fighters…" Crowley continued, as Gabriel herded Sam back to the dressing rooms. It wasn't until he saw the white wall and blue tile that the icy façade fell away, and he was suddenly very aware of what had happened. Somehow, the fact that he had just broken some guy's nose had more reality out here than in the ring.

"Sensational, kid. Sen-freakin'-sational. What a first match. Zach's gonna be watching you, no doubt." Gabriel punched him on the arm. "You ok? You look kinda peaky."

Sam stared at his trainer, and sat heavily on one of the benches.

"Shit… I broke his nose."

"Probably gave him a slight concussion too, maybe fractured a rib."

"What?"

"Yeah. You were ramming him against those bars pretty hard. The technique was a little sloppy, but I liked the attitude. He starts fighting dirty, and you fight dirty right back."

"Fractured rib? Holy shit, what did I… This is wrong, I can't do this."

"Sam, you've done it." Gabriel slapped him on the arm, smirking. "No going back now. Come on, let's watch the other fight and get Cas. You, me, him, Dean, all go out and get horrifically drunk."

"No, I…"

"You'll feel worse if you don't." Gabriel said, with that know-it-all smirk of his, and Sam honestly couldn't tell you much apart from blurred colours for the next 2 hours. The next thing he really remembered was sitting on the sidewalk in front of an ally. Gabriel dropped down beside him.

"The kids don't like her." He said, clearly continuing a conversation that he had imagined.

"Who?"

"Kali."

"Oh." Sam wasn't sure when he'd gotten so very drunk, but every time he turned his head to look over at Gabriel, the whole street went sideways, so he knew he was.

"An' I shoulda told you. I know, I'm a dick, but I figured if the kids don't know about the fighter, the fighter shouldn't know about the kids. Tryin' to keep this part of my life separate, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Kali knows about the fights. I couldn't not tell her. She knows all about everything in my life. S'how we work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. S'nice… you got a girl?"

"No." Sam ran a hand over his face, trying to scrape off the film of drunkenness that seemed to have settled over his vision. "Did have. She dumped me, once she… I told her some stuff about my childhood and she… she got freaked. Said I had too much baggage."

"What?" Gabriel snorted. "I'm sorry man, that sucks."

"I know."

"It's… it's stupid!"

"I know."

"Too much baggage… everyone's got baggage. It's the sign of a life, is that you've got baggage… I'll tell you something, it's the ones that don't have any baggage that you gotta worry about. Man don't have baggage, something's not right."

"Exactly. But she kicked me out anyway, so now I sleep on Dean's couch and do this for a living. Doesn't help that I got kicked out of Stanford too."

"For what?"

"Drugs. I'm clean, but some bitch girl I went with to get over Jess planted her stash in my room. They got me for dealing and I had no proof I wasn't."

"Man… sucks to be you."

"Yeah."

After a moment, Gabriel leaned over, resting his head on Sam's shoulder.

"We're good, right?"

Sam looked at the floor.

"Sam?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere." He patted Sam on the arm, and stood up. "Except for a piss. So, you know… You need anyone or anything… m'here"

"Cool. I know."

"Training on Monday?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. See ya." Gabriel staggered back into the bar, presumably to the bathroom. Sam had felt Gabriel's hand running idly up and down his spine throughout their conversation, but hadn't said a word. He debated whether or not to follow him to the bathroom, but he knew from experience not to write cheques that he couldn't cash sober. So, getting to his feet, he yelled down the dark alley.

"You can keep look-out yourselves, I'm goin' home. Don't wake me up when you get in."

"Sam, you suck." Came a voice from the other end of the alley. Sam giggled.

"Not if the noises Cas makes are anything to go by. Night, guys."

"Goodnight, Sam." Cas' voice floated through the dark towards him. "I'll be sure to get your brother home safe and quiet."

Sam left them to it.


	9. Chapter 9

As if to make up for the drunken excesses of Friday night, Monday's training session was intense. A mile wasn't enough; Sam had to run a mile and a half. Moving the speakers wasn't enough; Sam had to practically bench-press each one. And Gabriel wanted him to work on hi showmanship.

"I'm not a show-man, Gabriel."

"All I'm asking for is a little finesse. Just because you hate the guy and you want to see him bleed, doesn't mean you can get away with being sloppy. Ash, you still got that TV in one of the dressing rooms?"

Ash nodded yes. The three of them trooped back to the dressing rooms, and Gabriel sat Sam down in front of an old TV with a built in VCR. He took a video out of his carrier bag and slipped it into the player. What followed was a few seconds of black and white static, before giving way to a title card that read _"Casa Erotica- Domination Dungeon 3"_. Sam blanched.

"Really?"

"If you want to learn how to hurt people and look great doing it, there are worse places to start."

"Eh, I've seen this one." Ash shrugged, and mooched out of the dressing room. What followed was a very awkward minute of bad acting, and then an even more awkward five minutes of fiercely dom/sub porn.

"You're not watching." Gabriel eventually said, breaking the silence.

"Yes I am."

"No you're not. Not focusing on the way she's acting anyway. Look at her, look at the way she's standing, the way she's looking at him."

"I don't think I can act like that, Gabriel. I think it'll look really freakin' weird."

"Fair point." Gabriel nodded, fast forwarding. "Hang on, wait for the other guy to turn up… Ah, here we go."

On the video, a leather-clad horse-that-walked-on-two-legs of a man kicked down the door. His lip curled in disgust, and Sam had to admit that he certainly looked the part. He held his head high, and his movements were firm, decisive. The small smile that shone in his eyes as he beat the shit out of the guy curled naked on the bed gave Sam chills.

Thankfully, he had never been less turned on by a porn tape. So he wasn't an inhuman monster yet. That was good to know.

"Looking kind of uncomfortable there, kiddo."

"Just watching bondage porn with another guy in a disused dressing room." Sam said, "what could possibly be uncomfortable about that?"

"Mm… not really my style either. But like I said, a good over-all performance."

Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to overcome his discomfort and focus on the specifics of _how _the leather-clad sadist on screen was so terrifying.

"He…" Sam began, turning to Gabriel, but losing his words when he saw the other man staring at him, eyes bright and shining as they trailed over Sam's arms, chest, back… all the way down to his ankles, and back up to his face, seemingly unable to take in any more than one feature at a time.

"Gabriel?"

"Hmm?"

"Y'okay there?"

Gabriel blinked, and looked back at the TV screen. "What?" Sam smirked.

"You were staring at me."

"No I wasn't"

"Yeah you were." Sam couldn't fight back a grin.

"You want a beer? Ash has probably got some stashed…"

"No, I'm good."

Sam looked back at the TV and tried concentrating again. Except, 5 minutes later, he felt Gabriel's eyes on him again. He laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, shut up." Gabriel rolled his eyes, crossing the room in one languid movement and slipping his legs either side of Sam's. The kiss was sudden, and passionate, and Sam knew they shouldn't be getting wrapped up in it again.

"Gabriel…" He muttered, a warning, but that was all he could manage to say, before his lips were otherwise occupied.

"Shutup…" Gabriel practically growled into Sam's mouth. He kissed his way over Sam's jaw, down his neck and over his chest, his hands fumbling with Sam's jeans.

"Are you sure you want to…"

"Seriouslyshutup," Gabriel said, in one long breath, between nuzzling Sam's chest through his thin cotton t-shirt. He slipped off of Sam's lap, down between his knees. His hands were warm and rough as they hitched down Sam's jeans and massaged circles up his bare thighs.

Sam closed his eyes, and leant his head back as Gabriel took the young wrestler's dick in his mouth, coaxing him to a full erection. Screw it, Sam figured, if Gabriel really wanted to give him a blow job, who was he to stop him? His brain disengaged, feeling his cock enveloped in soft, warm wetness, Gabriel sucking and licking like a goddamn pro, taking his sweet time in getting to the really good spots, the places that had Sam incoherent and needy in less than a second, his insides melting and reaching boiling point when Gabriel moaned around him and sucked like he actually enjoyed giving head – which, the perv that he was, he probably did. It was just about all Sam could do to reach his arm down to fist his hand in Gabriel's hair, and massage the nape of the other man's neck with his fingertips. It felt so good, the kind of good that he hadn't had in his life for so long, too long, just being able to feel happy and physical and not think about the billion and one piece of shit things he had to worry about all day. Gabriel stroked Sam's thighs in response to the scalp massage, before digging his fingernails into the firm flesh of his ass.

With a half silenced groan, Sam came. Gabriel drew back, smiling, and spat the contents of his mouth onto the floor.

"Ew," Sam managed, panting for breath. Gabriel shrugged.

"Backstage dressing room. It's seen worse."

Sam's t-shirt was slick with sweat, and Gabriel lazily kissed his way back up to Sam's mouth. Sam accepted the kisses with a slow smile on his face.

"Want me to return the favour?"

Gabriel gave such a grin that the Big Bad Wolf would be intimidated, and opened his mouth to answer.

"Gabriel, darling, where are you?" Kali's voice echoed around the room, causing Gabriel to leap away like he'd been stung.

Sam had never buttoned up his pants so quick in his life.

"Uh.. Ba… Back here." Gabriel managed, opening the door (once he'd checked that Sam was decent).

Kali strode in, flashing a winning smile at Sam before kissing Gabriel on the cheek. Sam had never been so happy to see a woman kiss her boyfriend on the cheek. Gabriel smiled, and rested his hand on her waist.

"Just about to, get a drink of water. Want one?" he went to slip behind her to the door, but was intercepted by an eight year old comet, wrapping her arms around his waist. He did not look at Sam as he patted Audrey on the head and slipped out of the room. Sam was thankful, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep it together.

"Jesse, get in here now." Kali snapped, summoning the surly ten year old through the doorway. Audrey smiled sheepishly at Sam. He smiled back, and waved.

"Hi. How are you?" Sam realised he should probably be polite.

"Fine. Would be better if I could get on with the errands I have to run without someone throwing a tantrum." Kali glared at Jesse, who stared at the floor. Sam honestly didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He belatedly noticed _Domination Dungeon_ was still playing behind Audrey's clueless head, and slapped at the standby button before young minds could be warped.

"So…" Gabriel returned, holding a near empty plastic cup, clearly having washed his mouth out once or twice. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Kali stared at Jesse. Jesse stared at the floor. She sighed irritably, and shook him by the shoulder. He slowly looked up at Gabriel, his eyes flicking around the assembled adult faces. Gabriel seemed to get the hint, resting his hand on his godson's shoulder.

"It's cool, we can talk about it later."

Jesse nodded, and Sam could have sworn the kid was on the verge of tears. Kali rolled her eyes.

"Look, I have things to do. Could you take them for the rest of the day? They're in a real bad mood and it's ruining my day."

"Sure thing," Gabriel smiled, raising his eyebrows at Sam. "I'd say we're about ready to call it a day here anyway, huh, champ?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded, not managing to say much else.

"Great." Kali said, a wide smile. She gave Gabriel a quick kiss on the lips, before sauntering out of the room. Jesse stumbled forward a step as she barged past him. Gabriel ducked out after her.

"Stay here with Sam, kids, just gotta get my jacket."

Sam smiled awkwardly at the two kids, who huddled together in the wake of Kali.

He remembered Gabriel saying they didn't like her.

He wished he could cheer them up.

"You feeling any better, Audrey?"

"Yes, thank you." Audrey sing-songed, before tugging on Jesse's sleeve. "He's one of the people Uncle Gabe's going to make famous."

"As what?" Jesse asked, seeming happy to be distracted from whatever had him upset.

"A superhero, duh," Audrey said, before Sam could answer. "Why else'd he be so strong? And I saw Uncle Gabriel getting him a superhero suit, like Mr Incredible's, but black."

Jesse didn't look convinced. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Sure."

"So… you're gonna save people? Like, from bad guys and things?" Jesse seemed grudgingly ready to believe Audrey's story.

"Uh, yeah." Sam nodded again, feeling like shit for lying, but knowing they probably would prefer that to the truth.

"What about from wicked witches?" Audrey spoke in almost a whisper, and was instantly shushed by her brother. Sam's eyebrows raised.

"I, uh… I want to help anyone. Everyone." Sam nodded, judging up the pros and cons of what he was thinking.

"Do you have, like, a bat-signal? Like Batman?"

"No… but I've got a phone."

When Gabriel got the kids home for dinner, he was very aware of their whispering and conspiring, because normally that meant a prank war was about to start. But, by the time he was putting Audrey to bed, nothing had come of it. He figured he'd find out, sooner or later. When Kali came home, he figured he had a few things to own up to. After all, he told her everything. That was how they worked.

"Glass of wine?" Kali called from the kitchen, as Gabriel came back downstairs from putting Jesse to bed.

"Yeah, please."

"How's the training going? Your champ looked like he'd been working up a storm today."

"Mm." Gabriel cleared his throat, leaning in the kitchen doorway. "Listen, about that. I have a… uh, I have something you probably need to know."

"Oh god." Kali held her hand to her forehead, dramatically. "You're moving away to Norway to become a rock star."

"Psh. Been there, done that. No, I, uh… listen… or, actually, sit down."

Kali sat down, staring at Gabriel with wide, worried eyes as he spoke. And she listened.

And, for a while, she didn't say anything.

(-*-)

Sam's phone rang when he was washing the dishes at ten past nine.

"Hello?"

"Sam…" The voice on the end of the line was Jesse's, whispering, scared. In the background, an argument was raging. "Can you come over here and help us?"

"Sure, Jesse, I'll be there as soon as I can."

He was already out of the door.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time Sam got to Gabriel's, the streetlights had turned on, and the sun had set. As he walked up the street, he saw a car pulling away at speed, brakes screeching through the early night. As he drew closer, he saw Gabriel standing on the driveway.

"Gabe?"  
>"Sam? What..? You know what, whatever, I need a beer." Gabriel retreated into the house, apparently not noticing the two sets of eyes peering from under an upstairs curtain. Sam waved and put his finger to his lips, and the two small faces nodded. Sam followed Gabriel.<p>

"So… you want to tell me what that was?"

"Bitch. Psycho, crazy… hate-filled… I mean, I thought I loved her, she _loved_ me, but she had that in her, that… how can you, I mean, anyone… DO you want a beer or not?" Gabriel brandished a couple of bottles from the fridge, and Sam nodded mutely. Gabriel opened them by knocking the top against the counter, and Sam was more than a little worried he was just going to break the neck off the bottle and drink through the shattered glass.

"I take it you and Kali had an argument?"

"Shrewd," Gabriel spat, glaring at him as he handed over the beer. "I told her about what happened. You know… with us."

Sam blanched.

"Oh, God… Gabriel, I'm so… so sorry, I know…"

"Calm down, blockhead, it wasn't the cheating that did it. We've been together a long time, indiscretions like that are things she and I have both forgiven in the past."

"Seriously?"

"It was insane. I told her, I said, Kali, honey, I love you and I always will, but, I don't know how it happened, and I've ended up being intimate with someone else. And she said how much, so I told her, hand job and a blow job. And a kiss. She said she understood that these things happen, and as long as I promised that 'this other person' didn't mean as much to me as she did, she could forgive it. And I said 'of course he doesn't, Kali, babe, or not in the same way'. And then she went all quiet and starey. I thought she was having a coronary. I go, 'honey, are you ok' and she says 'what do you mean, "he"?' Looking at me like I was a ghost."

Sam's stomach turned to ice. Gabriel was staring at air, like he was still processing what was happening.

"What then?"

"I said yeah, honey, He. She tells me I'm not gay." He laughed. "I said no, babe, I'm bi. Remember?" She tells me I'm not. Says I can't be. Says I never told her that, and asks how I could lie to her. I tell her I made it damn clear, never hid it, if she hadn't picked up on it, hadn't listened to me, that's her fault. Then she gets all freaky, starts in on the "how did they let you have kids, you can't look after them"… condescending, homophobic bullshit, and starts throwing shit around. Then she just up and leaves, screaming something about 'real men'." Gabriel sounded angry, but Sam wasn't fooled. There was a tremor in his voice, something that underlined it with sadness. Fear. Confusion. He sounded tired, lost and betrayed.

"You ok?"

"No. No, I'm not ok."

Sam mentally kicked himself. Ask a stupid question…

"Who does that?" Gabriel looked at Sam now, for the first time. "Who throws away years of happiness over something so utterly pathetic? She could forgive me for schtupping some woman, but pleasuring another guy is… is…"

"Inconceivable?" Sam suggested, earning himself another glare.

"I was trying to avoid the biology puns, but, yeah."

Sam honestly had no idea what to say. He tapped his fingernails against the side of the beer bottle, before clearing his throat.

"I could… go, if that… if you want?"

"No… no, just… I don't know what I'd do on my own. Hang around for a little while."

"Ok."

It took Sam a moment to recognise the huffing, swallowing sound Gabriel was making. Wrapping his arms around the guy he'd come to know as his trainer, Sam held him tight and looked away so he couldn't see the tears form on Gabriel's cheeks.

"How about we put on a movie or something?"

Gabriel nodded. They both knew they wouldn't be watching it, but anything to override the hurtful words that still hung in the air.

(-*-)

Somehow, between the fourth dvd and the seventh beer, Sam must have fallen asleep, because he woke up the next morning on Gabriel's couch, with the intense sensation of being watched.

"Is uncle Gabe ok?"

"Uh… morning, Audrey."

The little girl stared at him from underneath her dark ringlets, a cautious frown plucking at her lips.

"He's making us _toast_ for breakfast." Audrey stared hard at Sam. "He never makes toast."

"I'm still working on it," Sam promised. "See? Here I go, right now." Sam stood up (feeling his back constrict into something roughly the shape of a slinky) and moved into the kitchen. There, he found Gabriel looking like something the cat had dragged in, snarfed down, hacked up and hidden under the couch for three months. "Hey… need some help?"

Gabriel laughed bitterly, "that's what the courts keep telling me."

"I can take over breakfast, if you want to… have a shower, or… sleep."

"Nu-uh. Got stuff to do. My own stupid fault for staying up so late. Coffee?"

"I'll make it."

"No, I can…"

"Gabriel. You are hungover, tired and emotionally crapped on. I will make your coffee and make your kids toast. Either shower, or go to sleep, because I swear to god you look like a walking horror movie."

"You sure you'll be ok? They…"

"I'll be fine. Go."

Gabriel looked reluctant, "you had just as much of a restless night as me. What makes you think you're more capable of fending off the hangover than me?"

"Being about ten years younger than you."

"Dick. You are two years younger than me, and I don't want to hear anything to the contrary," Gabriel snapped, but patted Sam on the arm as he left the kitchen and padded upstairs. Sam turned his attention to coffee and toast, and before long he was joined by a smaller presence. Audrey stared up at him from the doorway.

"You're working on it?"

"I'm working on it. What do you and Jesse want for breakfast?"


	11. Chapter 11

Marshmallow fluff and ham slices wasn't what Sam would have suggested as a nutritionally sound breakfast for growing kids, but Jesse and Audrey were adamant that it was a breakfast favourite, and it certainly seemed like they enjoyed it. He made coffee and, after a moment's hesitation, asked Jesse to take it up to Gabriel. He wasn't sure he could handle any Gabriel related nakedness, when he still felt that he'd basically broken up a couple.

Audrey and Jesse both got themselves washed and dressed, and Sam used the time to prepare a hang-over special. A grilled bacon bagel with a thin layer of cream cheese, put on a plate and left in the oven for Gabriel while Sam made sure the kids got to the school bus at the end of the street. When Sam got back to the house, the hangover breakfast was gone and Gabriel was tidying away the evidence of last night's pity party.

"Oh my god, just sit down and relax."

"I did. I had breakfast. Now I'm doing all the shit I've got to do." Gabriel didn't look up from his cleaning.

"Is this stuff you've actually got to do or stuff you've decided you've got t do so you don't actually think about anything?"

"What the hell business is it of yours?"

It took Sam half a second to snatch the trash bag from Gabriel's grip, grab his shoulders and back him up against the wall.

"It matters to me, Gabriel, you matter to me. I know you'd like it if I didn't see you as anything other than a trainer and believe me, I would too, but it looks like I just can't do that. So either you quit being a prick right now and admit that you're hurting, or I am going to beat all that crap out of you."

"Get the fuck off me, Sam, it's not funny." Gabriel tried to break free, but couldn't struggle out of Sam's grip. He tried again, but Sam pushed him back against the wall. Scowling, Gabriel kicked him in the shin and shoved him out of the way. More from reflex than anything, Sam's fist shot out towards the side of Gabriel's head. Gabriel braced himself for a punch, but was literally swept off his feet as Sam pulled him into a fierce, stubborn hug. Gabriel hit and punched at Sam's arms, fighting what he knew to be a futile battle as Sam stood fast, took each and every punch, and let Gabriel crumble.

They stood there for a long time, Gabriel's shoulders silently shaking, Sam occasionally taking the odd, weakened punch, adjusting his grip on the smaller man. Eventually, Gabriel's breathing became regular, and his arms hung limp by his sides.

"I wanted it to happen," he whispered. "I don't know why, but… I think I wanted her to go."

Sam nodded, pressing a kiss to Gabriel's forehead.

"I think I've been faking for a long time. I think I pretended to love her because it was easy. Best of both worlds." Sam felt Gabriel's forehead in the crook of his neck. "But I guess I just couldn't pretend any more."

Sam didn't protest, when Gabriel wrapped his fingers in his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. He should have. Should have said something about being on the rebound and emotionally vulnerable, although he wasn't sure he was talking more about himself or Gabriel.

He should have pulled back, said he'd see Gabriel tomorrow, walked out and let the guy chill out. But he couldn't. He didn't want to. So he let Gabriel kiss him, full and deep and desperate. They tasted, held and breathed each other, standing still in the middle of the front room, mouths locked together, hands clutching at each other's shirts.

Somehow, Sam thought it felt more like cheating than yesterday's blow job.

It was Sam's phone that broke up the moment, forcing them to tear apart with an awkward smile. Sam excused himself to the hall as he answered his phone, deciding to sit down on the stairs before he fell down.

"Hello?"

"Sam, where the crap have you been? Did you finally move out? 'Cos I could really do with having my couch back."

"No, jerk, sorry to disappoint you." Sam could hear Dean's smug grin down the phone, if such a thing were possible. "Gabriel's hit a rough patch, you know, personally… going through some stuff. I didn't want to leave him on his own."

Dean stayed silent for a long time, which made Sam worried.

"Dean?"

"Be careful," he said, eventually. "I know how much of a bleeding heart you are…"

"Dean, whatever you're thinking I'm about to do, I'm not. I'm just… here for him. As a friend."

"Yeah, friend with pants-free benefits…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just glad to know you haven't died. Catch you later." And Dean hung up. Sam didn't make like he was going to move from his stoop any time soon.

He was getting involved with Gabriel, with his life, probably more than he would have liked and definitely more than Gabriel wanted. He knew Gabriel's kiss- KIDS.

Kids. He knew Gabriel's kids. And they'd done some stuff, but it wasn't intimate. Wasn't like they cared about each other, and Sam certainly didn't care about Gabriel, right?

Except he wasn't even fooling himself.

"Ok, blockhead." Gabriel's voice came from the doorway, making Sam jump out of his thoughts. "Go take a shower, borrow some deodorant or whatever, and we'll get to training. Just because you had a late night, no reason to get lax."

Gabriel shoo'd Sam upstairs with such speed that Sam didn't have time to see the plastered on expression Gabriel wore, and figure out that he was trying extra hard to shunt his life back into gear. And, while his ears were full of water in the shower, he didn't hear Gabriel quietly freaking out in the kitchen, wondering exactly what the hell he actually wanted.


	12. Chapter 12

Gabriel and Sam trained the way the always did (Sam did his best, and quickly descended to half-assing it, while Gabriel yelled at him that it wasn't good enough and he may as well smooch the other guy to death), and by midday Sam was feeling pretty near death.

"Quit it, drama queen," Gabriel sighed, throwing a bottle of water to Sam, who lay flat out on the park bench by the tree. He'd just run the hill fifteen times, and stumbled back up one last time to collapse across the bench. Sam pushed himself upright and drained half the bottle in one go.

"Zach wants you to fight again on Friday. Are you up for it?"

Sam stopped drinking, and slowly let the question permeate his brain.

Fighting two Fridays in a row was good, it meant you could earn some serious money. Dean got about a thousand bucks a fight because he had a name, a following. So getting a name for himself couldn't be a bad thing.

But fighting two weeks in a row meant he officially wasn't a newbie. He'd be risking serious pain, because he would be the one to beat. They wouldn't have him up against seasoned hands, not yet, but it meant he'd passed the audition. And now the real work was going to start.

"Can we… if I say yes, I think we need to shift focus. More training on actually fighting. And technique."

"You got it, kiddo." Gabriel sat down next to him on the bench. "It's scary, I know, but… I really think you could make it. You might be up for the prize belt by the end of the year, if you work at it."

"Prize belt?"

"Fifteen thousand bucks, for a single fight. Usually takes about a year and a half to even be considered but… you've got spirit. You're like Rocky, with a little less brain damage."

Sam ignored the last statement.

"How come Dean's never mentioned it?"

"Zach won't consider him for it. His pretty face draws in the crowds, and Zach doesn't want to see it torn up too bad."

"Any worse than a regular fight, you mean?"

"The Prize belt is no holds barred. No rules, no time for blood. It's all-out, until either someone surrenders, or…" Gabriel trailed off, glancing at Sam. "But you're not ready for that yet. C'mon, drink up, and we'll see if Bobby won't let us use his place for a little combat training."

Sam did as he was told, trying not to scream.

(-*-)

Castiel sat with Bobby and Gabriel, half watching the fight and half playing cards.

"Dean, keep those damn arms strong," Bobby yelled over, without even looking up. "Don't make me take you out and wax the damn cars again, because you know I hate the Karate Kid."

"Yeah, Yeah," Dean grunted in response, as Sam shouldered him against the ropes, twisting around to pin him with his back. Dean couldn't reach over Sam's shoulders, and the force pushed out through Sam's legs meant there wasn't much room for movement. Not all bases were covered, however, which was proven when Dean began to pulverise the small of Sam's back, before kicking him in the back of the knee, making him stumble forward.

"You deserved that for letting your guard down," Gabriel called out. "What the hell kind of a fighting move is that, anyway?"

"I was just," Sam grunted, as Dean moved back into the middle of the ring, and Sam grabbed his brother's ankle, bringing him down with a heavy smack, "buying some time."

Sam jumped, going to bring his arms down on Dean's chest, but Dean rolled out of the way and left Sam brushing aside the stinging pain that shot through his arms.

Dean put his foot firmly between Sam's shoulder blades, forcing him down onto the canvas, his knees drawn up underneath his chest.

"Dean, quit messin' with him. Finish, if you're finishing." Bobby chuckled, before turning to Gabriel, "your boy needs work."

Gabriel didn't look up from his cards.

"Sam. Hup."

With colossal effort, Sam pushed himself up into a kneeling position, then leapt to standing, knocking Dean off balance.

"Alright, alright," Bobby yelled, "I'm calling time. You boys need work on your technique. Dean, teach Sam some actual moves, please." Bobby stood and started walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean yelled after him.

"To the powder room, if it's any of your business. Get training."

Dean and Sam caught their breath, before clapping each other on the back and starting to do a little martial arts style training.

Gabriel collected in the cards and shuffled the deck.

"You good for another round?"

"Always." Cas smiled, watching the Winchesters go through their moves while Gabriel shuffled. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You got out. You didn't have to take on Sam. And now he's had a fight, he could probably find another trainer. Don't you want to… I don't know, be legal? Respectable?"

Gabriel scoffed.

"I've never been respectable in my life."

"Why did you quit, then?"

Gabriel stopped shuffling, and dealt silently. Cas nodded.

"Off limits?"

"No, just… not something I really like talking about. It was a bunch of stuff, really," Gabriel shrugged. "Family life, a losing record… And the guy I was training then… It all happened before you fell down into this particular pit of life." Gabriel stopped dealing and forced a weary smile at Castiel. "I'm gonna go get a soda. You want one?"

Cas nodded, and turned his attention back to Dean and Sam, who fought on, tussling like kids.

"You're never gonna win with moves like that," he called out, "try flipping him like you did me last night."

(-*-)

The fight lasted a lot longer than Sam's last bout. "Ajax", a giant who was built like a brick wall and looked like he'd recently run into one, was on par with Sam's strength. They pounded, punched, and ended up near sumo wrestling at one point, but there was no clear winner. For every blow Sam dealt, he received one. The snarling calls of the crowd were growing impatient; they came to see blood, and this fight had lasted ten minutes without a victor.

Bruises formed on top of bruises, and Sam's still-recovering flesh cried out for relief, but he didn't let himself listen. Pain was nothing, not when he slipped behind that ice wall. He was soulless, he took each blow with only the most instinctive of reactions, and kept on getting back up. Eventually his chance came when Ajax raised his arms, prepared to bring them down on Sam's spine. A series of blows to the gut winded his opponent, and Sam went in for the kill. Grabbing the back of Ajax's head and throwing him down to the canvas, Sam punched him three times in the small of his back, before backing off. Ajax coughed up spittle that was laced with blood, and signalled surrender to Crowley. Sam swept off to the changing rooms without a second glance.

(-*-)

Sat in the changing rooms, an ice pack pressed to his forehead, Sam groaned.

"Shit… is he going to be alright?"

"Yeah, I checked." Gabriel sat down next to Sam, handing him a towel. "He bit his tongue, nothing serious."

"Ok."

"You alright?"

"Dizzy."

"I'm not surprised, after a bout like that." Gabriel chuckled. "You're going to look like shit in the morning."

"Gabe?"

"Yeah?"

"What's up with us?"

Gabriel stood up and walked across the room, suddenly very intent on looking through his sports bag.

"Gabriel?"

"You need to rehydrate. I've got some Gatorade in here somewhere…"

"Gabriel."

"What, Sam?" Gabriel didn't look around. "What do you want me to say, that I like you? That I want to fuck you? That I think you're cute and we should totally go steady and be dates for the homecoming dance?"

"Anything." Sam stood up, and gripped hold of the bench as the world shifted like he was on a see saw. After a second, he regained his balance and continued. "You're… we're clearly interested in each other so why won't you do anything about it? Why can't you talk about it?"

"I don't do talking about feelings, Sam." Gabriel turned around, Saw what Sam was doing, and rolled his eyes. He pushed the young fighter back onto his seat and took the ice pack from him, pressing it to his head. "For god's sake, stay sat until you've recuperated…"

Sam reached up and dragged Gabriel down into a kiss, but Gabriel pulled away, dropping the ice pack in Sam's lap and backing off.

"You're a fighter, I'm a trainer. That's where we're at. That's where we've gotta stay."

"Why?"

"Because…" Gabriel didn't sound so sure of himself. He looked around, sheepishly, before sitting on the bench next to Sam and resting his head in his hands. "Because if anything should happen, it'll hurt bad enough to lose a fighter. But to lose a fighter I…" He trailed off, and managed to drag his head up to look at Sam. "I can't go through that."

Sam's mouth felt dry.

"Maybe nothing'll happen. Maybe you won't lose me."

Gabriel sighed a sort of half laugh, before standing and rooting around in the sports bag again, producing a bottle of Gatorade he threw to Sam.

"I lose everyone," he said, simply, before walking out.


	13. Chapter 13

When Sam dragged his ass off the couch to get breakfast, he knew it would be a rough morning. Bruises had formed in his sleep, angry and purple, and he felt like he'd been hit by an RV. Dean was already up, and gave him coffee without prompting.

"Eggs are nearly done. Sit down, after a fight like last night you need to rest up."

"You're the best brother ever."

Dean plated up two portions of scrambled eggs, and sat opposite Sam, eager to eat.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yuh?"

"What would you do if you liked someone and they were refusing to accept your feelings?"

Dean sat back and looked at Sam.

"Is this someone I know?"

"No, this is a completely hypothetical situation."

"Right, so in this completely hypothetical situation, I like a girl…"

"A guy."

"A hypothetical guy."

"Yeah."

"But the hypothetical guy doesn't like me back?"

"No, he does. But he doesn't want to get involved. Also he's just gotten out of a fairly big relationship."

Dean hummed thoughtfully.

"Did this hypothetical relationship end because of something I hypothetically did?"

"No. Yes… sort of. It's more just because you showed up."

"Right… Well then I'd say it wasn't my fault at all, if the guy found he liked me better than his ex then that relationship was already stale. He's probably guilty and trying to stop from just basically dumping them for you... or, me…"

"Hypothetically."

"Oh yeah, totally," Dean sipped his coffee. "Of course, he also sounds like a bit of a mess so I'd watch my hypothetical butt. So you gonna be doing much today?"

Sam finished his eggs and left, taking his time walking over to Gabriel's. He was aching more and more with each step, but the idea of not seeing Gabriel only made him feel worse.

When he eventually made it, after several short breaks, he knocked on the door and was hit in the knees by a comet in pigtails.

"Sam-it's-sam-it's-sam!" Audrey bounced up and down some more, and began dragging Sam into the house. Sam followed, not really having a lot of options, and waved to Jesse as he was shown to a couch. Jesse waved back, grinning.

"Thanks," he mouthed, checking Gabriel wasn't in sight. "For helping."

Sam nodded and smiled. He wasn't sure "helping" was exactly what he'd done, but he wasn't going to suggest that to the kids. Gabriel entered from the kitchen, eyebrows raised as he saw Sam.

"Hi…"

"Hi."

"So you seem to be turning up at my house a lot."

"Sam why are you hurt?" Audrey asked, interrupting the tension.

"Uh," Sam began, but Jesse got there first.

"He was fighting a supervillan, right? Saving all of us from being exploded by evil!"

"Yeah, that's right," Sam nodded, grinning. "You should see what Doctor Destructor looks like." He raised his eyebrows and Jesse and Aubrey gaped at him, stars of fantasy shining in their eyes.

"Kids, you should pack up your stuff, it's nearly time to go."

Audrey ran off again, remembering her energy from earlier. Jesse shrugged.

"I'm already packed."

"Where are you going?"

"Camp. It's a special camp for kids whose parents are in prison." Sam blinked at Jesse's forthrightness, and could think of nothing to say in response. So he sat there quietly as Jesse and Audrey waved goodbye and skipped out onto the sidewalk, where a mini-van full of fairly happy looking kids and fairly peppy looking charity workers swung by to pick them up. Eventually, Gabriel turned to Sam.

"Why are you here?"

"I don't know," Sam said, honestly. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to be."

Gabriel nodded silently for a moment. At length, he sat next to Sam, but stared, eyes front, without looking at him.

"What do you want?"

"Honestly? I want you. I want someone who knows how fucked up I am and doesn't give a shit. I want to stop pretending that I'm not lost and alone. I want… I want to be able to hope something'll be ok again."

Gabriel looked at him then, and it was a look filled with as much sadness and self-pity as Sam felt. But there, under the wavering mire of drudgery, shining through like a beacon, was that glint of wanting. Sam was sure if he looked in a mirror, he'd see the same expression. Two lost and lonely people, looking for a quick fix.

Maybe Sam moved first, maybe Gabriel did. But before either of them could regret it, they were kissing again, hungry, fast and sloppy, biting each other's lips and pushing themselves close, hands gripping in each other's hair.

There were no kids, no girlfriends, no phonecalls to distract them now. No turning back. Sam pulled his shirt off over his head, bruises smarting as he stretched, but Gabriel quickly kissed away the pain. Soon Gabriel was shirtless too, and they pulled off their own pants, too desperate to waste time on romance.

"Here?" Sam managed to say, at this point almost naked. Gabriel nodded.

"If we take the time to go upstairs, I think I might chicken out."  
>"But… you do want this?"<p>

Gabriel nodded, the hungry expression on his face casting no doubt on his words. He and Sam clashed together again like a wave crashes on the shore, grasping and clutching at each other. Sam pushed Gabriel down onto the couch, kissing his lips more gently now. One hand supported him, as he leant on the arm of the couch, so as to remain mouth-to-mouth with Gabriel, while the other hand traced lines over Gabriel's stomach and hip bones, before pushing his legs apart and taking hold of his dick. Sam slipped in between Gabriel's legs, pressing his own erection against his coach's clenched ass.

"You sure you want this?"

Gabriel looked up at Sam, and nodded.

"Yes… wait, shit, are you clean?"

"Yeah. Tested two months ago, no partners since."

"Cool, I wasn't excited by the idea of going looking for condoms… let's do it. I'm a sucker for the neck." Gabriel grinned, as Sam took the cue without hesitation. He first kissed, then sucked, then bit Gabriel's neck, and felt as he turned to putty underneath him. Using this momentary relaxation, Sam pushed his hips forward, pressing the head of his dick into Gabriel's ass. Gabriel gasped and shuddered, sending waves of excitement through Sam's body. Sam pushed forward, nibbling on Gabriel's neck as he did, making him gasp and moan quietly.

Sam felt Gabriel's hands snake up his legs and clutch at his ass, as if trying to hold him from pulling away.

Sam stroked Gabriel's cock, gentle, easy strokes in time with the rolling thrusts of his hips. Gabriel's eyes shut, his mouth forming a silent o as he let Sam fill him with the buzz of physical pleasure.

"Fuck," Sam panted, as Gabriel put his hand over Sam's, making him grip tighter and stroke harder. "Fuck, Gabriel, I've been wanting this for so long."  
>"Oh Sam, buddy," Gabriel said with a chuckle (which sent more pleasurable vibrations up into Sam), "I've wanted this since you walked into my office. You're a hot piece of ass, you know that?"<p>

Sam laughed a little, and began thrusting with renewed force. He watched Gabriel's face closely, savouring every twinge and every change in expression. He watched as Gabriel came, gasping and shuddering, and carried on pushing through, even though he felt like he was about to burst. He kept going, wringing out every last drop of Gabriel's orgasm, making him give a strangled cry that was either a shout for joy or a plea to stop, or maybe both. Gabriel dug his fingernails into Sam's ass once more, and finally, he came. He nearly collapsed on top of Gabriel, trailing lazy kisses over his chest. For a moment, they lay there, gasping, and quietly, as reality returned to them, wondering what they were to do next?


	14. Chapter 14

It was a good thing it was a deep couch, because Sam was pretty sure they wouldn't have been able to shuffle around and lie chest to back on anything smaller without one of them falling off.

After the buzzing fog of orgasm faded away, and they were both comfortable, if aching slightly, with Sam's back against the couch cushions and his arm over Gabriel's hip, another silence descended.

"Sam," Gabriel said, at length.

"Yeah?"

"What are we doing?"

Sam licked his lips, feeling the silence of the house quietly blanket him, pushing down on him, forcing him to whisper.

"You mean right now, or more in general?"

Gabriel tilted his head to the side so he could see Sam out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't be an ass, I know what we're doing right now, we're spooning. Which I'm not entirely uncomfortable with, and that makes me worry."

"Not a cuddler?"

"Don't change the subject."

Sam smiled, pressing his lips against Gabriel's shoulder, noticing for the first time that he had feathers tattooed across his spine.

"What are we doing?"

"I don't know." Sam moved the hand that was on Gabriel's waist, rubbing his arm instead. "I want to do more of it."

"You do?" Gabriel twisted around, so that he was facing Sam. "Can you promise me something?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how I feel about this. How, I don't want to get attached to you because I can't lose…" Gabriel closed his eyes, took a breath and tried again. "Promise me that, if it gets to a point where it looks like it's either surrender or lose, that you'll make the decision yourself. Promise me you won't ask me to make that choice for you. Because I'll be selfish, and you'll be miserable, and I can't go through that."

A shiver crept across Sam's skin, and he knew it was only partly from the cold air on his naked body. Gabriel stared at him.

"Please. Promise."

"I promise."

Gabriel leant in and kissed him, eyes shut tight. When they parted again, Sam asked the question that had been bugging him for a while.

"What happened to your last fighter?"

"I think we should be at least partially dressed for this conversation." Gabriel pushed himself off of the couch, finding his discarded shorts and jeans. Sam sat up, but didn't follow suit.

"You're going to tell me, though?"

Gabriel pulled his jeans up over his hips and did up the fly.  
>"Sure. But give me five minutes to cook us up a post-bang brunch, get my thoughts together."<p>

Sam nodded, and retrieved his pants, only flinching for a moment when Gabriel smacked his exposed ass as he left the room.

(-*-)

They stood, leaning against the counters in the kitchen, eating bacon sandwiches. Gabriel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and set down his plate.

"Ok, so my last fighter, before I quit… I probably should have told you this sooner because Dean and Bobby and god knows who else probably knows half the story already… It was about seven years ago. My first ever fighter, the first guy I worked with who got me into the whole thing, he'd died three years beforehand and I was one of the most sought after coaches out there."

"Not to be immodest," Sam quirked an eyebrow.

"It's a fact," Gabriel shrugged. "So anyway. There was this one guy, high school drop-out, steroid-head, wanted to be champion fighter. He went by the name of Thor, and my god, when he fought, he destroyed the competition. And he wanted me as his trainer for the Prize Belt. He was pulling in a thousand bucks a fight, and he wanted to go for the belt. Well, I wasn't going to turn him down, because I figured, if anyone was going to be my champion, it was him."

Gabriel trailed off and started on his sandwich again.

Sam put his plate down on the side, crossing his arms as he did.

"What was he like?"

"As a person? Well the 'roids had him pretty screwed up. He'd be fine like seventy per cent of the time, but he'd get drunk, get angry, get violent. He wasn't a bad person, just got into rages sometimes." Gabriel looked down, laughed, and caught Sam with a wry grin. "Not a patch on your bleeding heart."

Sam smirked back at him, turning around and retrieving two cans of soda from the fridge. He passed one to Gabriel.

"Thanks. So, anyway, the guy gets the go ahead to fight for the Prize Belt and he tells me that he's so hopped up he can't even think straight, so he wants me to make the judgement call about if or when to throw in the towel. And he gets up, and he's up against the reigning champion… Guy who's won every fight for the last fifteen years. Goes by the name of Lucifer, I actually trained him, briefly, before he decided he was too good to be trained… But anyway, Thor gets in the ring, puts up a good fight, but for every punch he throws he gets two times as much hurt dealt back to him. They're both only just hanging in there, and I'm stood there… and I know that if I don't do something, if I don't stop it, he just might die… and I'm thinking, there's the Prize Belt."

Gabriel stared at the kitchen light, as if he was praying for forgiveness from the scuffs on the ceiling. He ran a hand over his face, and closed his eyes.

"The one thing I've never had, the reason I'd been training guys all that time, and I've never been closer to it. And I think, I think if he can just hang in there, just that little bit longer… But he falls. Before I can throw it in, he gets knocked out, Lucifer wins, and me and the medic are rushing him to the hospital. He was in a coma for a week and a half, had to go into rehab so he'd stop taking steroids and could take his pain meds. Turned out, and he never told me about this, but turns out he'd only started taking them in the first place, because… so no-one would notice he was wasting. He was HIV Positive, and he'd gotten hooked on the steroids so he wouldn't… look ill."

"Gabe, man, I'm sorry…"

"He couldn't fight any more. Hell, he couldn't walk. He just sat in a home, used all his money up to put himself in a home for people who are too sick to look after themselves, and he let himself die." Gabriel closed his eyes and bit his lip, tapping his knuckles on the counter.

"Gabe…"

"You have no idea. No… I didn't think anything, after that, I didn't think anything would get me back into this mess. And now you're here, and I like you more than I ever liked him, and… I can't go through that again."

Sam pulled Gabriel into a silent hug.

"I won't let that happen. I won't even go up for the Prize belt, if you don't want me to."

Gabriel wrapped his arms around Sam, resting his head on his chest.

"So are we… are we a thing, now?" Gabriel said, with a sniff. "We've told each other secrets and had sex on a couch, does that mean we're a couple?"

Sam laughed.

"If that's what you need to do to be a couple then I need to reconsider my past relationships. But… let's not be a couple or a thing. Let's just be us."  
>"Ok," Gabriel nodded, looking up at Sam. "You, uh… you wanna try it on a bed this time?"<p>

Sam looked down at Gabriel, whose cocky grin was firmly back in place. Apparently the emotional moment was over, and Sam barely had time to answer before he was being led up the stairs, his knuckles kissed and his fingers nibbled. He felt he should say something.

"Does this count towards my workout time for today?"


	15. Chapter 15

Sam felt a vague tickling sensation drag him away from sleep. It, whatever it was, was brushing against his nose and cheek, and over his lips. He opened his eyes, raising a hand to bat it away before he realised he had Gabriel's hair in his face.

"Ugh… did we fall asleep?"

Gabriel didn't answer. So, yes, then.

Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position, and looked around Gabriel's room.

The walls were white, with a couple of photo frames dotted along them. Opposite the mirrors was a built in, mirrored wardrobe. The bed was a big four-poster with red sheets, because apparently Gabriel was clichéd like that. Sam was just glad it wasn't heart shaped and equipped with a vibration option.

He looked over at Gabriel.

Shit. Here he was, sleeping on his brother's couch, kicked out of college, working as a cage fighter, and now apparently screwing his coach. He did not make life easy for himself.

Too full of thoughts to go back to sleep, he kicked away the covers and got up, the cold wooden floor making him tense for a moment. He went through to the bathroom, noticing on his way that the back of the bedroom door was covered in childishly drawn pictures, probably Audrey's artwork. He carried on to the bathroom, letting that thought roll about his head some more as he ran the shower. Was he really doing this? Getting involved with a family man?

It wasn't that he disliked Jess or Audrey, not that he really knew much about them from the five minutes they'd spent together. But he was young, still, and he didn't want to settle down just yet, did he? He was prepared to just take the him and Gabriel thing one day at a time, but kids muddied the waters. If they started seeing him as a second dad and things didn't go right, he wouldn't just be breaking up with Gabe he'd be breaking up with the kids too and oh my god why did it have to be so complicated?

He stepped into the shower, feeling the hot water (oh god Gabe's expensive power shower was so good after Dean's low-pressure joke) scour away the sweaty mess of after-sex and massage the bruises that were still angry and purple.

What would he even do, if he wasn't fighting? He couldn't go back to college, that was for sure, and he was qualified for nothing.

That $15,000 prize would help things along nicely.

A knock at the bathroom door interrupted his thoughts.

"Sam?" Gabriel's voice was nearly drowned out under the shower. "You in there?"

"Yeah," he called back, "just having a shower. Hope that's ok."

There was a rattling, and over the frosted glass of the shower cubicle Sam saw the door open.

"It'd be more ok if I was in there with you."

Sam wasn't really given a chance to argue. He looked down on Gabriel's smug grin, and couldn't help smiling.

"Again? Are we just going to be having sex for the rest of our lives now?"

"No," Gabriel chided, reaching up and knotting his fingers in Sam's hair. "Just 'til the kids get back from camp."

(-*-)

Gabriel strapped the punch pads onto his wrists. Bobby's training ring was, thankfully, empty, and the man himself was out of town, but he'd let them borrow it on the understanding that it be exactly as he left it when he came back. That suited Sam fine; he hadn't seen Dean since breakfast that morning and somehow it felt like a lot had changed since then.

"Alright," Gabriel stood with legs apart and knees bent, hands up at shoulder level. "Now this isn't gonna be like the last time, ok? No punching me in the face."

Sam rolled his eyes, but fell into a fighting pose, knees bent, weight shifting from one foot to the other, fists in front of his face, elbows in tight at his sides.

"Ready when you are."

"Ok," Gabriel was watching him with challenge-me eyes, professional mode quite definitely "on".

Sam jabbed forward with the left, one, two, three, four, five, a right hook, left hook, swinging from the hips to turn all his strength through the motion. He hooked and jabbed, and a couple of times succeeded in pushing Gabriel back, off balance.

"That's it, keep going. I want you sweating Sam, don't think I'm gonna go easy on you just because we had the morning off."

Sam hit hard, puffing his breath as he felt adrenaline stir through his body.

"Hey, Gabe?" he said, between punches, but his coach shook his head.

"No talking now, training. Focus."

So he was silenced. He was silenced when he tried to talk in their drills, he was silenced when he tried to talk instead of beating up the punch bag. It wasn't until they took a break that he was allowed to finally finish his sentence.

Except now he knew Gabriel wasn't going to shut him up, he kind of didn't want to say it any more.

"What?" Gabriel said, sitting down heavily beside him.

Sam wasn't sure what, but he knew he wasn't going to ask the question currently rolling around his mind. Gabriel wasn't about to wait, though.

"You've been desperate to ask me something since we started, what?"

Sam looked Gabriel up and down, before making a snap decision.

"Do you want to do something tonight? Get dinner or something?"

Gabriel blinked at him.

Sam cleared his throat and looked away, fiddling with his water bottle.

"Of course you don't. You think it's too involved. I'll shut up now."

"I don't think it's too involved," Gabriel said, not quite making eye contact. "I think I only broke up with a long term girlfriend a couple of days ago, and even if the romance died a while ago it's kinda…"

"Yeah, no, you're right."

"It's nothing personal, Sam, I just…"

"No, it's cool, I get it." Sam stood, and clambered into the ring.

"We've spent pretty much the whole day together Sam, I just think…"

"Right. I've got it. Are we fighting or what?"

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, before hopping up into the ring with him. He reached down and strapped on the punch pads.

"We're gonna work on agility," Gabriel said, dropping into the fighting stance again, stretching his neck out. "OK."

He held the pads up, and Sam went to jab his left, but Gabriel neatly side-stepped.

"Not good enough," Gabriel said with a smile.

Sam tried again, and missed again.

"Come on, Sam, get your head back in the ring."

Sam threw a jab to the left, and when Gabriel sidestepped, he threw a neat right hook and got the other pad. Gabriel chuckled.

"Alright, now we're getting somewhere. What if we make this interesting, huh?" Gabriel stepped back, slipping his hand out of one of the pads before reaching into his pocket. He fiddled with his phone, and then set it down on the ringside. "You get me five times before the timer runs out, and we'll go do dinner or something."

Sam nodded. He was waiting for the trick, the but, but it never came.

"Well?" Gabriel said, pads raised. "Time's a-wasting."

Sam jabbed again, faking out to the right and then throwing a hook, but Gabriel ducked under his extended arm, without stopping to think. Sam threw another couple of punches, but Gabriel ducked and twisted, putting space between them.

"I'll give you a hint; 'agile' does not mean 'rooted to the spot'."

So Sam went on the offensive. Light on his feet, he and Gabriel circled the ring a few times, and with a quick jab, he got the pad once.

"Alright, that's one, now come get the other four."

Sam tried to back Gabriel into a corner, but he ducked right by him, out of the way. Sam turned and tried again, but this time he was ready. When Gabriel ducked under a left hook, Sam spun, following his right arm, and got Gabriel across the chest. Completing his spin meant Gabriel got pulled over backwards, and Sam pinned him by kneeling on his shoulders. He grabbed Gabriel's wrist and slammed his hand against the canvas, raised his right arm, and punched the pad four times.

Gabriel's phone trilled behind them.

"Alright, not bad," Gabriel smiled, looking up at Sam. Sam didn't move. "You gonna let me up?"

"No."

"Well if you don't do something, soon, the neighbours'll start talking."

Sam removed his knee from Gabriel's chest, but didn't let go of his wrist. Instead he crouched, straddled over his coach, and kissed him.

Gabriel kissed back.

When they broke apart, Sam struggled to catch his breath.

"Are… whatever we're doing…" he swallowed and tried again, "the moment you don't want to be in it, you tell me, OK?"

"OK," Gabriel nodded. They'd gotten quiet all of a sudden, and the lack of noise made things spin.

"No, Gabriel," Sam sat back, letting him up. Gabriel didn't move, though. "I don't want you to stick to me because you feel you… owe me or like it should be… because of Kali. Don't… just, don't, OK?"

"OK." Gabriel repeated. He still didn't sit up, but his hands came down to stroke Sam's knee, stuck, as it was, by his hip. "I'm not going to make this into a bigger thing than it is. But I'm not afraid of it. I'm not going to stop it before it's due, right?"

Sam nodded, and pushed himself up, backing off a few steps. Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"Gimme my phone?"

Sam slid the phone across the canvas, before jumping out of the ring and grabbing his water bottle.

"Any particular place you have in mind for dinner?"

Sam shook his head, too busy drinking to answer. Gabriel scrolled through his phone book and rang up a restaurant, and booked them a table. Sam smiled and laughed and let Gabriel drive him home so he could change first.

He hadn't been thinking about them at all. He hadn't been thinking about what it was or where it was or who they were. He'd said all that, sure, but just so Gabriel didn't get suspicious of the silence.

Just so he could fool himself into thinking he had some nobler cause of worry.

What he'd really been thinking about was Gabriel's story about Thor.

What he'd really been thinking about was the Prize belt.


	16. Chapter 16

Gabriel's car was a neat, sporty thing of unknown origin. Cars were Dean's thing, not Sam's, all he knew was he wished Gabriel drove an SUV or something because this car was too low to the ground and the roof was too close to his head. Gabriel looked over at him from the driver's seat when he first got in the car, and actually snorted with laughter.

"Shut up," Sam muttered, but couldn't help smiling himself. "Not surprised you'd have a toy car."

"Well you know what they say," Gabriel shrugged as he put the car into drive. "If you drive a big car, you're compensating for something. And I have nothing to compensate for."

"Says you."

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up as he made exaggerated noises of pain. Sam laughed.

"I sometimes forget just how sassy you can be," Gabriel said, "which way?"

"Left here, then third on the right."

"Thanks. And besides, didn't hear you complaining this morning."

"Just drive, you ass," Sam shook his head, laughing and looking out of the window. "Go straight over this crossing and take your first right."

Sam was quite surprised to feel Gabriel's hand on his knee.

"Thanks. You've been really cool with all my shit going on…" Sam looked over, to see Gabriel adamantly staring out at the road. "Thanks."

Sam took Gabriel's hand in his, rubbing his thumb over Gabriel's knuckles.

"No problem. Oh, we're here. Come on in, no point waiting out in the car."

Their hands disentangled as they got out of the car and made their way up to Dean's apartment. Sam tried not to look at Gabriel too much as they stepped past the rotting garbage in the lobby (the janitor was on holiday, or lazy, or dead, no one seemed to know for sure), went up the stairs because the elevator was broken (again), held their breath as they passed a moldy patch on the wall and forced their way through the door to Dean's, which stuck on the doorframe due to bad workmanship. Inside, it was relatively tidy for once.

"I'm just going to grab a quick shower and get changed, help yourself to coffee or TV or whatever." Without thinking about it, Sam leant in and pressed a kiss to Gabriel's cheek. Gabriel pulled back, and blinked.

"That's… that's relationship behaviour right there."

"Ok... sorry. Won't do it again."

"Did I tell you not to do it? I just said what it was, not that you shouldn't do it." Gabriel rearranged his features into a smile, and grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

"OK," he said, when they parted, "go shower, you stink."

Sam slapped him on the ass, but went and showered anyway. When he came back, Gabriel was stood with a coffee mug in his hand, staring down at the pull out couch bed. He looked up when Sam walked in.

"Is this where you sleep?"

"Yeah," Sam shrugged, walking over to a chest of drawers and pulling out some clothes, "It's not much, but… how fancy is this place we're going to?"

"Regular. Jeans and a button down. Shit, kiddo, no wonder you're always moaning about your back… and… You and Dean share this place?"

"And Cas is practically living here too now, apparently."

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, before checking his watch.

"Get dressed, we need to scoot."

Gabriel was oddly, ominously, quiet during the drive to the restaurant (some fusion cuisine place, Sam had never been there before but they had a variety of meals he was allowed to eat, and it was one of those quiet, intimate sorts of places crammed with small tables and candles), and during the meal. He was happy talking about whatever Sam brought up, but he wasn't doing much to further the conversation. Sam knew that, especially compared to Gabriel's big ol' suburban homestead, Dean's apartment wasn't much. But… he hoped Gabriel didn't deem him dumpable because of it.

"You want to stay at mine tonight?" Gabriel said, glancing up from his dessert.

"Really? What happened to 'we've spent nearly all day together'?"

"I just… I dunno, I guess I'd feel bad letting you go back to that couch bed. You can't train if you don't sleep properly, and I can't believe you can sleep properly on that."

Sam picked at his dessert.

"Whatever," Gabriel said, brushing it aside. "We'll see how this evening goes, huh?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam smiled, feeling a little relieved. He didn't like to be the subject of scrutiny. Gabriel didn't look like he was about to give up, though.

"So you dropped out of college?"

"Yeah, my ex planted her stash on me so she wouldn't get caught."

"Nice. Heartless."

"Yeah. So, they gave me a "leave by choice or get a criminal record" talk, and I was encouraged to drop out."

"Yikes." Gabriel summed up, looking over at Sam with a piercing intensity, brow creased with worry. "So… you've probably got some debts following you around too, huh?"

Sam nearly dropped his spoon. He looked up from the table cloth, shaking his head.

"Don't say it."

"What? I'm not…"

"Gabe, after what you told me, about… about Thor… I couldn't. I won't."

Gabriel grimaced, his lips set in a thin, hard line. He didn't take his eyes off Sam. When he finally spoke, he was quiet, but clear.

"What happened to Thor was sad. Terrible, in fact. But he was greedy, and he was self-destructive. If it hadn't happened then, it would have happened some other time. That's just the facts. But you're different. You're smart, you're quick, and you're not selfish. And whether you admit it or not, that prize money would be good for you."

Sam sat back in his chair, staring at Gabriel.

"I don't… You're… Yes, OK, that money would be good. But I'm not gonna put you through that, especially now we're…"

"So you'd rather I watched you drag yourself out week after week, getting beat down over time until you finally get the money together but find yourself too deep to get out again?" Gabriel leant forward and grabbed Sam's hand. "Do the prize fight and you can get out, get a real job. A legal job. You shouldn't be in this shitty situation."

"Neither should you." Sam ran his thumb over Gabriel's knuckles, before pulling away.

"I needed it, Sam, I needed this. One last fight. One last shot. So let's do it," he was smiling his shark-like grin, eyes boring into Sam's , shining in the restaurant's dim lighting. "Let's make this our big shot. You and me both. You get the prize, we both get out. You don't, we take you back to weekly fights. That's the deal. You gonna take it?"

Sam set his jaw, head swimming with choices.

"Can I sleep on it?"

"Sure." Gabriel said, smiling again. "Now finish your dessert."


	17. Chapter 17

Their food came, their food was eaten, the plates were taken away and dessert put in their place.

All the while, through mouthfuls of food and in between laughter, Sam and Gabriel talked.

Talked about everything. And nothing.

About their childhoods (Sam in various care homes around California, Gabriel in Burbank), their families (Sam's was pretty much just Dean, but Gabriel had three brothers and since their Dad left early on, who knew how many half siblings), their favourite movies (Sam's was Indiana Jones, Gabriel's was Star Wars), and how they preferred their eggs in the morning (Gabriel swore by sunny side up, but Sam was an old-fashioned scrambler).

They laughed their way through dessert, and Sam fought back a yawn. He tried to cover it up with the back of his hand, but Gabriel saw, quirking an eyebrow in his direction.

"Getting tired?"

"No, not really. I'm fine."

"Yeah, and I piss kool-aid," Gabriel said, leaning back in his chair and waving to get the waiter's attention. The waiter nodded in their direction and Gabriel settled down in the chair again. He removed his napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth, before dropping it on the plate.

"No, really, I'm not…"

"Kid, if you're gonna win the belt, you need to be one hundred percent. That means well fed, well exercised, and well rested." Gabriel raised both his eyebrows, a no-nonsense set to his jaw. Sam thought about arguing, but then the waiter arrived with the bill, so he guessed there wasn't much point.

"I was just enjoying being normal for a night," Sam said with a shrug, as he stood and slipped on his jacket. "You know, pretending I'm not a professional cage wrestler?"

Gabriel snorted a laugh as he reached into his pocket and produced his wallet. Sam went to do likewise, but Gabriel was quicker, grabbing the bills from the billfold and thumping the table as he put them down.

"I can pay," Sam started, but Gabriel's wallet was back in his pocket and the man himself was standing, slipping his jacket on and already slipping his arm around Sam's waist.

"Now I've seen how you're living? No way. You need to save every penny of your fight money, and I will not hear otherwise." Gabriel steered Sam out of the restaurant before he could protest too much, and Sam was kind of glad for this, because he knew he couldn't really afford to pay much.

"Thanks," Sam muttered, as they set out from the restaurant to the distant corner of the parking lot where Gabriel had pulled in. The evening was cold, and Sam pulled his jacket tighter around himself, but Gabriel didn't remove his hand from his waist.

"You want to stay the night?"  
>"I don't know," Sam grinned, turning on his heel and taking Gabriel's hand. "My coach says I have to be well rested if I'm going to get trained."<p>

"Damn," Gabriel laughed, using his free hand to unlock the car, but grinning up at Sam all the same. "I guess I did say that, huh?"

"Yeah you did, and I seem to remember you saying you have to go pick up the kids from camp tomorrow as well."

"Dammit," Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes, "I need to stop talking myself out of a good screw. Ah, well," he pulled Sam's hand to his lips, kissed his knuckles and smiled, before walking around to the driver's side of the car. "I guess I'll just have to wait."

Sam couldn't help smiling himself as he slipped into the passenger seat. Even though the ride home in Gabriel's tiny coupe was uncomfortable, and his cuts and bruises from the last match were still aching, he felt better than he had in weeks.

Him and Gabriel.

Going for the belt.

It might just work.

(-*-)

The next morning, Sam rolled off his couch bed with more than the usual energy, and bounded over to the kitchenette to make a start on breakfast. After putting on the coffee maker, starting on the toast and eggs, he heard movement behind him, and saw Dean shuffling straight over to the bathroom.

"Hey."

"Ugh." Dean carried on his way. Sam returned his attention to the eggs. Dean had never been a morning person. There were sounds of further movement, and Sam turned around again to see Cas being drawn towards the coffee machine like it had a gravitational pull.

"Morning," Sam nodded.

"Yes," Cas said with a smile, eyes only flicking momentarily away from the coffee machine. "God I love this thing. The best invention of mankind, the coffee machine."

"Yeah." Sam said, deciding to roll with it. He wasn't entirely sure Cas actually had a home of his own, and he helped with the dishes so Sam wasn't about to complain. "Want some eggs?"

"Yes, thank you," Cas said, finally looking away from the coffee machine as it dispensed its first mugful of brown java. Cas stood by the side, warming himself with the coffee, and watching as Sam dished up three breakfasts. Dean walked out of the bathroom, slightly more alert, but still wrapped up in a flannel robe, a black eye blossoming over most of the left hand side of his face.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam stopped, halfway done serving up the eggs, one lump of scrambled yellow egg hanging perilously from the end of the spatula. "What happened? Was that the fight?"

"Oh, this?" Dean waved the concern aside, but his cheeks (under the bruise) seemed a little redder. "It's nothing. Anyway, what's up with you, making breakfast? What are you, a housewife now?" Dean swept over and sat down, pulling his plate closer to him. Cas sat next to Sam, but Sam didn't sit. He finished dishing up the eggs, put the pan and the spatula in the sink and stood, gripping the back of the chair.

"Dean, seriously, that looks bad."

"No, I checked him out," Cas said, mouth already full of toast. "He's fine, it'll go in a few days."

"You hear that, I'm fine." Dean said, fixing Sam with a suspicious look. "So what's with breakfast?"

Sam cleared his throat, and tried to figure out exactly what to say next.

"He had sex." Cas said, before Sam could open his mouth.

"What?" Dean looked form Cas to Sam and back again.

"How did you…" Sam started, hoping he didn't look as embarrassed as he felt.

"I can tell," Cas said, stopping to sip his coffee. "Ah… yes, it's a combination of physical appearance, changes in attitude and actions, plus, I have a sort of… sense for it."

"It's true, he does," Dean nodded. "And with who?"

Sam started on his breakfast.

"Oh God, it wasn't that Ruby chick was it?"

Sam choked on his breakfast.

"No…" He managed, when the airways were finally clear, "no, it was… It's Gabriel, ok? Me and him, we're…"  
>"Sammy!" Dean sighed, went to rub his hand over his eyes, but recoiled as soon as he touched his bruise. "Ow… Sam, you don't do your trainer. It's a big old mess just waiting to happen."<p>

"I know, I know." Sam said, counting the stains on the table. "But I'm not going to be in the game much longer. Gabe's training me up. I'm… we're, we're going for the Prize belt."

Cas and Dean both stared at Sam. He didn't look up from the table, but he could feel their eyes boring into him like drills. And not hand drills, either, the giant ones they use for getting through polar ice caps.

"Say that again?" Dean's voice was dangerously quiet.

"We're going for the Prize Belt. You know, assuming Zach signs off on it."

Dean stared at Sam for a full thirty seconds, just stared right at him in complete, unmoving silence. Then, with a loud scraping noise form the chair, he stood up, grabbed his plate and stalked back to his bedroom.

Cas stood awkwardly, taking his and Dean's coffee mugs, and followed after him, pausing to mutter,

"Be careful, Sam. Be very careful."


	18. Chapter 18

"Come on, champ." Gabriel held his hand out and helped Sam off the canvas. Again. He'd been distracted all day and it didn't take a genius to see why. It had been three days since Sam had announced his intention to win the Prize Belt, and Dean hadn't spoken to him since. What had happened, though, was Zachariah phoning both of them to tell them that they were going to be teaming up for next week's two on two. They were training at Bobby's again, and Dean was over on the punchbags, pointedly pounding the shit out of one and ignoring Sam. Whenever he had acknowledged him, it had been accompanied by a betrayed, angry glare.

Sam got to his feet again, in time to see Dean stalk over to the bleachers.

Bobby was less than impressed.

"Alright, I don't know what's got you idjits riled up, but it's putting both of you off your training."

"He…" Dean began, anger flashing in his eyes. Bobby held up a hand.

"I don't care. You can either get over it, or get up in the ring and fight it out. As long as it's out of your system by fight night, you can go into the house and fuck it out, for all I care."

"Uh, I'd care," Gabriel put his hand up, earning himself a glare from both Bobby and Dean. "And unless I got to be involved, I wouldn't allow it."

"Don't," Sam grumbled, shaking his head. Gabriel just looked at him, clearly shocked and surprised that his antics weren't appreciated.

Sam gave Gabriel a look, a tired "I need to talk about Dean" look, and Gabriel nodded, hopping out of the ring. Sam was about to follow when he saw Dean storm up and climb in.

"Ok. Yeah. Come on." Dean was already in a sparring position, and Sam slumped his shoulders.

"I'm not gonna fight you, Dean."

That was as much as he managed to say before Dean dropped to a crouch, swinging his leg round and tripping Sam onto his face.

Sam grunted as he felt the canvas push the air out of his lungs. He rolled over onto his back, choking on the air that rushed to fill his throat.

"Yeah you will," Dean said, standing up. "Because if you can't fight me, then there's no way you'll survive up against him."

"Him who?" Sam pushed himself to his feet, only to have Dean's foot connect with the side of his head. He bit his tongue as he fell to the canvas again.

"Lucifer, Sam. The current Prize Belt Champion."

Sam was quicker getting to his feet this time, and backed out of Dean's reach.

"You don't think I can do it?"

Dean scowled, and lunged for Sam, trying for a headlock. Sam lowered his head, charging into Dean's stomach with his shoulder. They stood, straining against each other, each pushing to gain ground.

"I don't see," Dean grunted, fists landing themselves in Sam's ribs, "why you'd want to. Why are you… risking everything?"

Sam gave one final shove and backed off, leaving Dean off balance and bringing both fists down on his back before he could regain stability. Dean fell to the canvas, and Sam fell on him, driving his elbow into his spine.

"Who's idea was it, Dean? Who got me into this?"

Dean went still. He stopped struggling, stopped moving. Cautiously, Sam released his grip and, in an instant, Dean was up and gone, storming out of the old barn. Bobby ran a hand over his face and went after his fighter. Sam stay, half kneeling, in the middle of the ring. Gabriel, from his position ring side, leant on the canvas and looked up at Sam.

"Y'alright?"

Sam nodded, feeling more winded now than when Dean had tripped him. Was that it? Dean was guilty about getting him into it?

Bobby had stopped Dean by the doors, and they were having a heated discussion that didn't carry back to Sam, but he could see the anger on their faces.

"I'm getting out," Sam called, sitting back on the canvas, watching Dean tense and pretend he couldn't hear him. "I'm getting the prize and then I'm getting out. I don't want to be doing this next year."

Dean looked back over at the ring, stared right at Sam for a second, before leaving the barn. Sam stared at the canvas for a moment, wondering how he'd manage to screw up his life quite so badly that even making efforts to fix it meant endangering his safety and pissing his brother off.

Sam's water bottle rolled over the canvas and nudged him in the foot, making him look up to where Gabriel was leaning against the edge of the ring, elbows out to the side and head on his flattened hands.

"Sammy wanna take a break?"

Sam grabbed his water bottle and stood up, swigging from it as he climbed out of the ring. He didn't look at Gabriel. Gabriel seemed to see this as a challenge.

"After all, you've spent most of the morning on your ass, I know how tiring that can be…"

"Gabe…"

"Oh no, I get it, being a Disney Princess can be exhausting, you've got pouting, posing, being over-emotional, catty arguments…"

"Knock it off."

"I don't know how Audrey manages to do it all day."

Sam resisted the urge to throw his water bottle at Gabriel's head. It was very difficult. He gave him a look that sad as much. Gabriel heaved a sigh and sidled over, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist.

"He's worried about you." Gabriel said, staring up at his fighter. "He'll get over it, now he knows you have a plan. And hey, at least you got people to worry. More than most."

Sam leant forward, pressing his forehead against Gabriel's.

They stood that way for a while, until Bobby came back into the barn and told them to either train or get the hell out of his barn so he can lock up and get some food.

(-*-)

Sam and Dean sat ringside, not looking at each other. Crowley was whipping the crowds around them into a state of pure, primal, fury. Sam doubted they'd be able to hear each other, even if he tried to talk. Since telling Dean the plan in full (ie, get the money and get the hell out of there), he had seemed a little calmer. A little less like Sam was a massive disappointment.

When Crowley had sufficiently baited the crowd, Dean climbed up into the cage. They were up against The Werewolf and Dragon, so Sam wasn't too worried, but still he let Dean take the first round. Dean shot a grin over his shoulder, and Sam nodded in response. He couldn't smile now. The fight was on.

Gabriel watched, leaning against the edge of the bleachers. He stood in the shadows, monitoring Sam and Dean's performance with a removed air of calculation, and pointedly ignoring the sparks flying around his brain that alternated between "I can't watch Sam get hurt" and "man, he has a nice ass". Those sparks were not helpful, and he was a coach tonight. Coach first. Boyfriend second.

He fought down a particularly persistent wave of Boyfriend Sparks as Sam tagged Dean, leapt into the ring and pile-drived into Dragon in one swift move. Kid needed to work on his lower body strength. Or maybe they needed Chuck to get him new shoes; he was losing friction, as Dragon was finding out, gripping him by the shoulders and trying to grudge-match-push him backwards into the bars.

"So that's your new kid?"

Gabriel tried not to obviously tense at the voice that came from the shadows behind him, but he definitely felt a jolt of cold fear surge through him. He slowly took in a breath and swallowed back the urge to run.

"Yeah," he said, not taking his eyes off the ring. The looming presence moved next to his shoulder, stepping into half light. Gabriel glanced over at his face. God, his face… He'd heard about the attack, but hadn't seen the results…

His eyes snapped back to the ring, before Lucifer saw him staring. People who stared at his scars tended to get a few of their own.

"I came by to see you yesterday," Lucifer rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck out as he languidly warmed up. "I heard your champion is hoping to lay his hands on the prize belt."

Gabriel shrugged, again struggling to keep a handle on his neurological impulses.

"Well. I look forward to destroying him." Lucifer said, laughing. It was a dark, bubbling laugh, that sounded like a pan of water boiling over.

Gabriel didn't say anything. He wasn't going to try and talk trash to Lucifer. The guy was about as calm and logical as a shoebox full of hornets, no one knew how he was going to react.

"But anyway," he continued, as if he were discussing the weather, "I was about to pop in and see you and your 'family', when I met a rather bewitching young lady."

Gabriel felt the chill descend on him again. Lucifer took him by the shoulders and pointed across the ring, to see a sickeningly familiar face sat among the crowds.

"We hit it off straight away. She's come to watch me, isn't that nice? And she's even offered to help out with my appeal, now I've served my time. What a girl."

"Appeal, what do you mean, 'appeal'?" Gabriel said, in spite of himself. "You're already out, what else could you be…"

He fell silent as realisation hit him. Slowly, he shook his head, fixing Lucifer with wide eyes.

"No… no, she wouldn't… you wouldn't…"

Lucifer smirked and walked away, back to the dressing rooms. Gabriel fell against the bleachers, slipping down to the floor as he tried to remember how to breathe. The crowd roared with satisfaction as someone fell unconscious on the canvas.

(-*-)

Sam had wanted to stay, and size up the competition, but as soon as he had climbed out of the ring, Gabriel had made mumbled noises about having to go. Sam chased after him and grabbed his arm.

"What's up?"

Gabriel looked around, practiced cocky glare not quite measuring up.

"You need to go back inside, start studying your future opponents."

"Gabe…"

"Lucifer's in there. You want to see what he can do… I gotta go. I can't…" He vaguely waved Sam's hand away and staggered off down the street. Sam turned, at a loss, and saw Cas and Dean watching him from the doorway. Dean shrugged, but Cas hung his head, before beckoning both of them inside. He had really hoped he wouldn't have had to trade in gossip. But being the only medic Zach had ever hired, he knew everyone, and he knew their secrets. So he sat Sam and Dean down and told them about the gloomy evening in October, two years previously, that had destroyed more lives than he cared to think about.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: I know, it's been an age, but I am still here and intend to finish this story, I've just had a lot of life get in the way. I apologise. As you may have seen in my other recent updates, I find myself unable to write Dean/Cas any more. Maybe it's the direction the show's taken, maybe I'm just tired of wishing and believing in something that will never be resolved, maybe the Dean and Cas in season 9 aren't the Dean and Cas that I enjoy writing, but whatever the reason, I just cannot bring myself to focus on their story any more. They'll still be appearing, doing the side character slots, but I will not be doing any more dean/Cas stories, for the foreseeable future. Anyway. Now that's done, please enjoy the latest chapter of Sam Winchester Makes Bad Choices For Good Reasons And Gabriel Is A Dork.**

Castiel sat opposite Sam and Dean, the two benches that flanked the walls of the changing room just wide enough apart that their knees wouldn't touch each other's. He ran a hand over his face, cleared his throat, and began.

"Lucifer had just finished defending the prize belt. He was on a high, and not just an emotional one. Sure he had debts, sure he had enemies, but he was, as far as he knew, invincible. Once upon a time, mind you, he had been a good, Christian man who loved his wife. But, when he lost his job, he found a bar. When he found a bar, he found a taste for expensive drinks and high-stakes card games. From there, it was a long, painful descent into addiction and owing. All this is conjecture, of course; the only way to get the truth of the matter would be asking Lucifer about it, and you don't want to talk to him if you can help it."

"Anyway. One of the people he owed money to was Zachariah. And Zach is not the sort of person one owes. Zach is the sort of person one pays. So he sent a guy to collect, and the guy never came back. He showed up three days later in a hospital. Turns out Lucifer had also developed a mean and violent temper. So Zachariah approached him personally, and offered to wipe all debts if Lucifer came and fought. He ran through seventeen trainers in five years, and the last one of them was Gabriel, who he stole away from some other guy before dropping him and deciding he didn't need a trainer. So Lucifer fought alone and won the belt. That was fifteen years ago. Gabriel took on a bunch of fighters, but none of them lasted long. Then he found Thor, and for a while it looked like he was the only one who would manage to end Lucifer."

Sam started guiltily. He knew how that part of the story ended.

"And he didn't manage it." Dean concluded. So he knew the story too.

Castiel nodded, and continued.

"Anyway. Two years ago, Lucifer won the belt, again, and he was high on adrenaline, steroids, you name it. He went home, and his wife… his dear wife… She had been his high-school sweetheart. Her name was Lillith. And before Lucifer's descent into violence and anger, she had been a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Since then, however, he had found her a perfect outlet for his anger. Both the children they had, were only born because of his forcing himself on her. The violence, the abuse of every kind… it turned her cold, and manic. And that night… that night was just one fight too many for her. She died, that night. Lucifer had a good attorney… Zachariah, actually… they claimed it was accidental death, that she had been trying to leave him, that they had fought at the top of the stairs while Lucifer was trying to convince her to stay and care for his children… they claimed his various wounds and scars were inflicted by her… and that she had pulled away from him, over balanced, and fallen down the stairs. The judge, for some ungodly reason, believed them. Apparently that was more likely than him pushing her down the stairs when she tried to get away from him."

Sam was silent. He had known, or, suspected, that any guy who chose to be known as Lucifer wasn't a good guy. But that…

"I didn't know…" Dean started, his voice sounding strangely heavy. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What happened to the kids?"

"They were placed in the custody of their Godfather. Lucifer's brother..."

The bottom suddenly fell out of Sam's stomach. The entire world fell away from him like a badly maintained fairground ride. The pause between Castiel's words seemed to go on for days, years, and Sam would have happily kept time frozen for as long as it took if it meant the conclusion he had jumped to the moment before Castiel spoke was proved wrong. _Say a name,_ he thought, _any name, just not that one._

Dean stared at Castiel, drawing in breath and slightly shaking his head. He must have known who Lucifer's brother was. Sam slowly felt the word swimming out of focus. Maybe it was the multiple traumas to the head and neck, or severe internal haemorrhaging, but he doubted it. He managed to swallow back the acid rising in his throat and tried to make a sound.

"Who..?"

Castiel's eyes were rounded, softened with unspoken apology, with grief. When he spoke, Sam was sure he'd never heard so much gravity laden on a single word.

"Gabriel."

(-*-)

The phone clicked over to voicemail again, and there was a hesitation before Gabriel broke the silence. In the dark, in the quiet, he could almost pretend there weren't two glorious, brilliant sources of all that shone and was good in the world, just sleeping innocently upstairs. Maybe if it stayed dark, if it stayed silent, he could pretend they'd never even been there to start with.

"Kali," he said, at length. His voice was hoarse, his tone resigned. His eyes were red, but his cheeks weren't wet. He had held it back, held it in, and that was probably why he was so hoarse. "Kali, it's me. I don't know what you're planning, but Luci-" He stopped himself. "…he gave me a pretty good idea. Just… just don't, OK? You know as well as I do, those kids… He couldn't… wouldn't… Have a heart. If you want to spite me, fine, spite me. Hurt me. But just leave them out of it. They've… Jesus, Kali, haven't they hurt enough? I…" A long, high-pitched beep told him the message had cut off. He resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room, but only barely. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, the heels of his palms pushing into his eyes. His phone buzzed, and he snapped it up. The call ID said Sam. He put it down again, leaving it on the couch as he stood and made his way upstairs. He stood at the door to is room, hesitated, and turned away. Too much had happened in there. And it was too empty, now. He turned and walked back along the landing, coming to a door with black and green stickers all over it, declaring it a "Toxic Waste Zone" and a "Grown Ups Keep Out" area. Gabriel smiled slightly, before gently pushing open the door and peeking inside. Jesse was sprawled over the bed, his black and red pyjamas making his skin look even paler as the dim light from the window caught him. His breathing was quiet, his chest slowly rising and falling… Jesse slept the sleep of a kid who'd run himself down to empty, and had eight hours to recharge and do it all again.

Gabriel ducked back out of the room, easing the door closed as silently as possible. He turned to the door covered in macaroni collages, glitter and craft paper, and pushed it open with similar stealth. He saw he needn't have bothered though, as a white sheet sat up in the dark with a ray of yellow light inside it seemed to be visiting already.

"Audrey…"

The sheet squeaked and the light disappeared. Gabriel smiled, but it didn't last long.

"Audrey, it's gone midnight. You should be asleep."

The sheet didn't move.

"I'm right here, I can see you."

Audrey pulled the sheet off her head, leaving her hair a mess of sticky-up brown curls. Her face was puffy from lack of sleep.

"I had a nightmare and you weren't in your room so I read a story instead and I was under the sheet so nothing would get me."  
>"Ah," Gabriel nodded. "Well, as long as it's a defensive up-after-bed-time-reading, that's fine." He walked into the room, took away her torch and her book, and put them back up on the bookcase by the door. "Go to sleep."<p>

"I can't…" Audrey's voice quaked. He turned around, and looked at her. She really did look scared. "It was… _that_ nightmare." She didn't look at Gabriel, but he knew which one she meant. The one where Mommy comes back and takes her out for a picnic, and Daddy turns up like the big bad wolf. The one were Uncle Gabe can't help her because he's not there. Gabriel hated that one.

"Let me get changed for bed and I'll be right back," He said, trying for a reassuring smile. In the next ten minutes, he was wearing a pair of Christmas pyjamas (dark blue with little reindeer all over them. They had been a present from Audrey and they were now his 'human-comfort-blankie' pyjamas) and squeezed in next to Audrey on her bed. She was curled into his arm and, even though he was in a less-than-comfortable position with his knees tucked up and his head on one side so he'd fit, he was perfectly happy to get what little sleep he could while holding her close. They couldn't take her if he was clinging on to her.

(-*-)

Sam woke, gasping for air. He lay still, waiting for the difference between dream and reality resolve itself. Dean's ceiling swum into view overhead, the painful mattress springs solidified beneath him. The smells of coffee and stale air lay in between.

Cas had been smoking again.

Sam wondered if smoking would relax him a little. Sure, it was bad for you, but so was voluntarily locking yourself in a cage with a violent criminal. In fact, if anything, smoking was relatively healthy. Sam longed for the option where he lived long enough to die from smoking.

They'd stayed at the fight, after Cas's revelation. Thankfully, Lucifer wasn't the kind to put someone out of their misery and there'd been plenty of fight left to watch.

Sam didn't even have the spirit to be sarcastic.

_Thankfully._

Watching Lucifer fight was… terrifying. Legitimately, absolutely terrifying. For all the time Crowley had spent baiting the crowd, working them up into a frenzy of bloodlust… The moment he said Lucifer's name was like lightning striking a pack of chimps or baboons, screaming, stomping, bearing their teeth, the crowd had roared at him, not for him, and when his opponent had launched at him, they screamed louder. Then, in some kind of superhuman feat of reflex, Lucifer had tripped the guy, thrown him to the floor and had his arm in a position where, if he so chose, he could have easily dislocated… hell, he could have torn the thing clean off.

The crowd had fallen silent, then. They had watched, completely mute, as every time the guy went to stand up, Lucifer knocked him down again. The light played on the scars that covered his face, casting weird, unnerving shadows over his eyes, making them glint like onyx on a black sheet.

_Is it a 'pack' of chimps? There's probably a special word._

Sam pushed himself up, and was dimly surprised to see Dean already making coffee. Dean saw him over the back of the couch, and forced a smile. Sam forced one back.

"Busy day," Dean said, gesturing with the coffee pot to the toast that sat on a plate next to him, apparently for Sam. Sam swung his legs off the bed and rested with his elbows on his knees.

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You've gotta train. You're going up against that guy, you need all the help you can get."

Sam nodded, dumbly agreeing. He pushed himself up to his feet.

Training meant he'd have to track down Gabriel. After running out last night, Gabe hadn't answered any of his calls. Sam wondered what had happened, whether it was just the shock of seeing his brother again, or whether it was something more. As Sam leant against the counter, he thought about himself, and Gabriel, and Dean, Bobby and Cas. Their weird little support group. Chuck, too, and Ash. People who would help him. Would keep him alive. He swallowed his mouthful of toast, when a thought struck him.

"Troop."

Dean looked at him. "What?"

"I was trying to think… it's a troop of baboons. Not a pack."

Dean stared at him.

"Get in the shower and wake up properly, otherwise you'll sleep-walk into traffic before Lucifer's even had a chance."


End file.
